Oh My Stars!
by escspace
Summary: It is the year 2812. (Frankenstein/Raizel/maybe Urokai)
1. Chapter 1

"It is good to see you again." Seira tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "And not behind bars," she adds with a small smile as she walks towards one of the cabinets in her office to grab a bag of tea, something that reminds her of home, of Earth.

"I don't plan on getting caught anytime soon." Frankenstein sits down on one of the sofas, looking around, at the paintings, the tall windows, the champagne curtains. Even though they are in the space age, this room has a comfortable nostalgia, reminding him of his old office in Ye Ran.

"Of course." Seira places the cup of tea on the glass coffee table in front of him. "May I ask, what are you here for?" She takes the seat across from him.

"I thought it would be nice to see someone I actually liked for once, instead of running into that… _'man of the law,'_ he calls himself." Frankenstein lifts the cup to his lips. "It's absurd," a half chuckle. He takes a sip.

Seira smiles at him. "Only as absurd as you," she said in her quiet ways.

This time, Frankenstein does chuckle. "So he is."

* * *

It stirs and hisses, there is white smoke. When he opens his eyes, he is met with dim red lights. A slow beeping, a couple blinking switches. Large, flat tables. Bottles and machines he does not recognize. The air is sterile and still.

Raizel looks around for a moment longer, then he leaves.

"Hey, may I have your I.D. please?"

Raizel turns around. He looks at the man before him, dressed in a dark blue, the fabric sitting close to his skin, not a style he is familiar with, decorated with subtle polygonal shapes and sharp lines.

"Are you supposed to be down here?" he asks.

A short silence. Raizel shakes his head.

"What're you doing here, then?" The man's eyes ghost over Raizel, stopping at his cravat and the ruffles of his cuffs. He quickly looks back up. He does not receive a response. "Oh, are you…lost?"

Raizel nods.

"Don't worry, I get lost around here a lot too. The maps are so hard to read," the man says, flashing a good natured smile. He points down the hallway, "Just go down there, take a right at the third intersection and then to your left should be the elevators to take you up to the ground floor. I gotta go check on some stuff. Good luck!" He waves as he enters one of the many numbered doors.

With a thought, the fabric of Raizel's clothes fall apart, replaced with the same dark blue and lines he saw on the man. He turns around to face the direction he has been pointed to. The third intersection, it is simple.

* * *

His teacup sits empty on the table. Frankenstein opens the windows that framed Seira's chair and desk from behind, grand arches that swallow light into the belly of the room.

Seira has left him for a meeting with the teachers, and Frankenstein has to smile fondly at that; she had grown up so much. He remembers his own meetings, how they would drag on. At least she doesn't seem to have as much paperwork piled on her desk as he did, though that is hardly an indicator of how much actual work she needs to do, with everything digitized these days.

He watches the grass and plants sway in the field beneath him, watches the light shift as the day wears on. He breathes in with the breeze and sighs, resting his hands on the windowsill.

The door clicks behind him. He hears someone step in.

"So you finally decide to make your grand entrance," Frankenstein says.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Master,_ " Frankenstein says, as he always does, but there is bitterness on his tongue, venom in his throat.

"Frankenstein," Raizel says, as he always does, and he is gentle, hesitant, because Frankenstein's tone does not elude him.

Frankenstein turns from the window, though not fully. Something inside him churns; he almost feels sick, and he almost laughs at himself. Oh, he thought he was over this by now. "Have you been having fun, Master?" _for all these insufferable centuries?_

"I have just awoken," is the uncannily serene response.

For a moment, Frankenstein is taken aback. He closes the windows and turns to look at his master fully. Wearing that uniform, he must have seen one of the staff from Rozaria's university. Frankenstein, for a moment, sighs fondly; for a moment, smiles softly. For a moment, he is home again. But, "It's been… a long while."

A questioning look from Raizel.

"1,620 years, Master."

This gives Raizel pause. He looks at Frankenstein, sees the sun make a halo of his hair and something sorrowful in his soul. He slowly lowers his gaze. "A long while," he repeats, almost a whisper.

"But not for you." Frankenstein's eyes fall over Seira's desk, dragging along the lines of the wood grain. "Nobles…you don't understand time," he says, almost to himself, but he knows Raizel hears. He sighs. "There is something you should see."

Frankenstein hopes Seira will not mind terribly that he uses a piece of paper from her notepad to leave an encouraging goodbye message. He places her pen down with a click in its exact location. "If you would follow me, Master," he says, heading towards the door.

Gilgamesh is an industrial masterpiece. No surprise, considering Frankenstein modified it himself after having stolen it from a tyrant king in a distant solar system. Muzaka had helped with some of the heavy lifting; he owed him a favor after Frankenstein bought advertisements for his bakery, _'Warming the outer reaches of space with home baked goodness!'_ Frankenstein has become annoyed with how often he sees that dumb werewolf grin displayed on scrolling boards and screens.

The ship is a stately black when uncamouflaged. The coolers, thrusters, fusion chambers, a magnum opus. And while its outer appearance is heavy and and utilitarian, inside was a luxury, as Frankenstein had become very much used to. But his favorite part: the custom channels and reflectors that allow him to aim Dark Spear's power out of the ship from the comfort of his own cockpit. It had taken him more than a few years to complete such a project, but of course, anything for his long time lover.

The ship's belly open to them.

* * *

"What! That's-that's… no way." Urokai rewinds the security footage. "No, no, no. I—" He straightens himself and runs a hand through his hair, then again. He lets out a breath. His face breaks into a smile, and he doesn't know if he should be awfully worried or extremely glad or just cry. Or maybe he is dreaming or his eyes are playing tricks on him or the noble who awoke from the coffin is merely a lookalike. "It's a miracle," he says full of breath or maybe breathlessly; he can't quite tell.

Rozaria stares at him wide-eyed. "Do you… know him?"

Urokai's gaze is fixed to the screen, to the frame, to that figure and that face. "It's _him_ ," he whispers almost reverently. He turns suddenly to Zarga, grips him tightly by the shoulders. "We _have_ to find him."

Zarga shifts his head back to give himself a little space. "Obviously," and while his tone was a bit aloof, Urokai caught the slight smile and excitement in his eyes. "Now, if you please…"

"Oh, sorry." Urokai lets go of his partner's shoulders. He turns to Rozaria. "Do you have any more footage or anything else?"

She nods, adjusts her purely decorative glasses, and navigates to the street view on the screen. "We see him walk down Starwell Street, but that's as far as our security cameras go."

Urokai squints at the screen as if such an action would help him remember what lay beyond the camera's eyes. "The direction of the high school," he realizes. The school that has obvious connections to _that_ criminal, no matter how much Seira—a sweet a girl as she is—tries to distance them from him.

They rush out of the building and onto the streets and perhaps they would have opted to run to the school on foot as well had they not just spot that striking black ship rise into the air. "Is that—! That's fucking Frankenstein, get the fuck in!" Urokai shoves Zarga into the vehicle, and they too rise into air.

"Language, Urokai," Zarga chides the redhead; certainly, his head is full of fire.

Urokai rolls his eyes. "I'll lay down my badge before I let him get away this time," and Urokai treasures his badge, polishes it until it is a gleaming mirror everyday since he got it. "I know _he's_ with him." His hands gripping the controls, they are going to chase that blond peacock until the edge of the universe if they have to. If Urokai were not such a man of the law, perhaps he would have taken a moment to pray to the heavens to please let this be the day at last.


	3. Chapter 3

Frankenstein smirks at the blip on the monitor, of course he is being followed. This cat and mouse game, he admits he enjoys; it occupies his time at the very least, but for now, he isn't so interested in that. He swivels around in his chair to look at Raizel, who is sitting with his legs crossed on the circular sofa at the center of the command room, his eyes wandering around to every nook and cranny, to the mechanical lines on the wall, to the lights and numbers and maps and alerts on the glass surrounding them; to Frankenstein. "We're here," Frankenstein announces as he stands up. "If you would join me, Master."

Raizel does and stands by Frankenstein's side as they look out the sweeping window.

Rocks and rubble. Debris floating listlessly, some of them clustered in a large radius, some of them with ice; space is cold and bare. What is it he is to see at this particular location?

"That used to be Earth." Frankenstein turns his head to Raizel and gives him a hollow smile. "You missed the fireworks."

Raizel remains silent. They stand like that for a while. Once or twice, Raizel parts his lips as if to utter something, but the words escape him. His fingers curl, rubbing against each other, pinching at nothing, thumbnail digging into the skin of his forefinger. What is he to say? What is he to feel? "A long while…" his words, as quiet and solemn as dust. His eyes still captured by the space, and he wonders about the history of those rocks: whose homes were built upon them only to turn into dust?

Frankenstein merely nods.

"Lukedonia…"

"Gone, obviously." Frankenstein crosses his arms, shifting his weight to one leg. "We've moved on, Master." He returns his gaze to the destruction of their previous home. "Things are more than different. You missed…everything." _Everything_ and it makes Frankenstein's jaw tighten to think of it, but he says no more.

Raizel's eyes widen, and he turns his head to Frankenstein. He breathes in, feeling something tight in his chest, something that makes it hurt to look at his bonded, as if he were not worthy of it. And he is not. "I am…sorr—"

Frankenstein swipes the transmission alert on the waist height screen in front of him.

Urokai's ungodly face appears on the window before them. "Frankenstein! You fu—! Raizel-uh-Sir Raizel!" Suddenly, the scowl turns into a grin that is a bit too wide and too flustered for someone of cool authority; expected, since Urokai is anything but cool.

"Yes, Urokai, you were saying? 'You fu—' what?" Frankenstein says, a challenging edge to his tone and smile.

Urokai leans in, only making his face fill up more of the window, something Frankenstein does not need. He furrows his brows, his lips pressed together but can't maintain the expression as his eyes dart to Raizel and then back to Frankenstein, a sound of a response caught in his throat. "You—" He only manages to look angry.

A hand grips Urokai's shoulder and pulls him back. Zarga greets them, standing shoulder to shoulder with the man who doesn't know to be mad or happy or what. "Sir Raizel," Zarga says with a bow of his head. "I am glad to see you safe."

"Safe? With _him?_ He's going to get everyone killed someday, including himself," and there is something in that statement that rings a bit too close to truth.

Frankenstein narrows his eyes. "Wow, 'everyone'? I'm flattered," he says flatly.

Zarga sighs at the too familiar exchange by now. "I suppose it's pointless to ask you to cooperate or turn yourself in."

"You know it." Frankenstein raises his chin a little higher, tone a little lighter.

"But Sir Raizel, I highly suggest you come with us. I know he is your bonded, but he's…"

"A criminal," Urokai snaps. "Wanted the world over and then several more after that." His expression softens a little. "You're better off with us, Sir Raizel?"

Raizel looks at the two faces on the screen, then turns to Frankenstein. He stares: a question he does not ask.

"I'm afraid he can't do that," Frankenstein decides. He uncrosses his arms and holds his palms up, showing off, but maybe more accurately, he is pulling off a magic trick. "You see, he's my hostage."

"Wh-What!" Urokai's face fills the window again. "You wouldn't dare!"

"I already have." Frankenstein laughs, and it feels good to laugh. He cuts off the transmission. A few switches here, a couple dials there, and the laser on top of the ship rises from its housing, takes aim, and fires. Frankenstein takes his seat, thankful for the quiet and lack of Urokai's yelling. It is time to go.

"Master," he calls. Frankenstein's eyes are focused on the maps and the stars. "I don't need your apology."

* * *

Zarga sighs. "Well, he's insane." He checks on the condition of their government issued drifter. A little hum escapes him as the report on the small screen to his left indicates there is no vital damage. How considerate of Frankenstein.

"He's a dick is what he is." Urokai presses harder on the cyclic stick as if they can go any faster.

"I guess you would know about _that_."

He blinks, letting out a surprised huff. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Zarga leans back in his seat. "Just focus on chasing him."

"Hmph, whatever." Urokai's face is only a little redder than before.


	4. Chapter 4

Urokai's fork is in his fist, his hair draping over his face with his head so lowered. "I can't—He—got away… with Sir Raizel."

Zarga takes a bite of his croissant, careful to catch the flakes with his plate. "He has Gilgamesh. Did you _actually_ expect us to catch him?" He sips his coffee. Too much cream. "We can't even catch up to it even if Gilgamesh was without any source of power. We pilot a lame donkey."

"But, he has Sir Raizel…" Urokai lifts his head and sighs. "Who knows when we'll see them again?"

"Next week, if we're unlucky."

Zarga looks up at Urokai from his coffee. "You need a new eye," he says. "It's lagging, again."

It is bad enough that Urokai just had to get the glowing green one to replace the eye Frankenstein stabbed. 'It'll look cool,' he said. But it only makes him look more ridiculous when the eye decides that it doesn't feel like correctly responding to Urokai's nerves and muscles today, or that maybe Urokai wants to be cross-eyed or just look stupid. It is only second, though, to the gaudy, long, neon green lashes Frankenstein sometimes wears; they also glow.

"I know," Urokai grumbles as he rubs at the offending eye. "I know what my eye does, thanks." He digs his fork into the peach mousse cake. "They're expensive." He stuffs the cake into his mouth.

"Maybe you'd have more money if you didn't spend so much on all the sugar at this place."

"What's this about too much sugar?" Muzaka dries his hands off on a towel as he approaches the table. "I use only the right amount of sugar." He stuffs the towel into one of the pockets of the pink apron he so proudly wears, an old gift from Frankenstein. He grins at the two nobles. "So, what's up? You catch him?" Muzaka laughs. "Of course you didn't!" he answers for them. "The day that happens is the day I become Lord again."

"He has Sir Raizel with him," Urokai says between mouthfuls.

"What?" Muzaka blinks. His mouth hung slightly open. "You're sure?"

Zarga sets down his coffee. "We both saw him." He lets out a huff of a chuckle. "Frankenstein has him as his _'hostage'._ "

At this, Muzaka's disbelief is shoved aside with another hearty laugh. "That's too good to be a joke! Right, only he would do something like that." He puts his hands in his apron pockets. A distant expression crosses his face before quickly being replaced by a lazy smirk. "Well, if you see Raizel again, tell him to come visit. Who knows? Maybe he'll like my sweets more than Frankenstein's."

"You're both equally terrible." Urokai had finished his cake.

Muzaka crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. "I suppose you can do better?" His canines show in his grin. "Zarga's told me about the times you tried making tea for—" Muzaka clasps his hands together, tilts his head, softens his tone "— _Sir Raizel_."

"What!" Urokai slams his hand on the table, earning him looks from the other customers. He glares at his supposed partner across the table.

Zarga picks up his coffee again.

* * *

"You can take this room, Master." The door slides open to the side with a light nudge. Inside is an expansive bed that nests flush within a platform in a comfortable nook raised a couple feet off the light wooden floor. The room is warmer in appearance compared to the rest of the ship's metal. A desk, a tall white shelf, and one wall that is entirely a mirror. "It should be adequate for now." Frankenstein looks at Raizel for a response.

Raizel nodds and steps inside. He peers around.

"That door—" Frankenstein points to the one in the far corner "—is the bathroom; the other one is a walk in closet." A silence settles between them for a moment. Frankenstein presses his lips together and looks at Raizel for a short moment longer.

"You haven't had anything to eat or drink since waking. I'll prepare something," just like he used to, and Frankenstein is surrounded by memories and dreams of them. _Pushing that iron cart decorated with cakes and sweets and tea and teacups._ He walks towards the door. _He stripped the fish of its bones and smiled at the carefully crafted dish._ "I'll return shortly," he says. _His muscles ached after sparring with Ragar but having dinner with Master was rest enough._

"Frankenstein."

"Yes?" Frankenstein looks over his shoulder.

"Thank you…" Raizel says softly. Before Frankenstein has the time to curtly nod and walk away, "for keeping me," he adds.

It is almost a smile. "Yes, Master," and Frankenstein almost lets himself miss how those words sounded with his own voice. _'Yes, Master,' always_ , he had thought, so long ago, but _always_ is a lot longer than he had anticipated. Frankenstein leaves.

Raizel looks out the window of his room; he can't see anything. They are moving too fast for that. The ship is a strange wonder, along with the rest of what he has seen; along with Frankenstein. He catches his reflection in the mirror.

This suit, it is not his style.

The bed dips with Raizel's weight as he take a seat. He feels the cool sheets under his hand. This, at least, is familiar. He looks up. Above the nook is a dome that perhaps would allow him to see the stars if the ship slows down enough.

It is so…vast, space. And Raizel wonders where he should go. Frankenstein had told him, the Lord, the Noblesse, they no longer existed: outdated, archaic, mere whispers of a history people would eventually forget. He had been born for his duty, a judge and executioner; he was destruction. Raizel looked to the ground.

Who is he to be now?

No one, perhaps.

Raizel takes a breath. _Frankenstein,_ he calls down the bond, just to share a presence. Perhaps Frankenstein will allow him this.

He does not receive a response.

What had come to pass, Raizel does not know fully, can not even hope to. But he understands, at the very least, that he has failed. The Noblesse, a useless artifact. He has fallen and then awoken to a world already gone. Lukedonia was to be his duty and his demise, and yet, here he is, among unknown stars in an unknown space. He does not even know his very bonded.

 _Frankenstein._

"Master."

Raizel looks up. Frankenstein is by the door, a cart in front of him, reminiscent of the one he used in their home. He recognizes the tea on the top tier. There are little colorful desserts in the second. Raizel straightens himself further as if he were not already sitting straight, his hands on his lap. He watches Frankenstein push the cart, and he wants to smile softly at him as he approaches, as they have always done for each other, but refrains; Frankenstein may not be in such a mood for that.

"I hope you'll find this to your liking," Frankenstein says. "They're old recipes, but I had to substitute a couple ingredients. I can pick up more once we land." He gives Raizel a glance. "If you don't need anything else, I will be in the lab." He turns to go.

Raizel's lungs fill with air and his hands lift slightly off his lap as if he has the audacity to call to Frankenstein a second time. He doesn't. He settles back and watches the door close.

He looks at the floral teapot, wraps his fingers around it, and it is warm. Raizel smiles softly then.

 _Master, would you like more tea?_

 _Shall I refill your cup?_

 _Is there enough sugar?_

 _Perhaps you would like to try this next._

He has gotten used to that—to Frankenstein. Always standing by, attention on him as if Raizel means something beautiful, something profound.

 _Thank you._ He wonders if Frankenstein hears.

Raizel pours his own tea, and it is silent.


	5. Chapter 5

Without his classic black jacket and slacks, Frankenstein's spacesuit is striking white and hugs the contours of his figure, but he is anonymous with his helmet, the glass only allowing one to look out and not in. Or rather, he would be anonymous had the public not gotten wind of his series of misadventures, not that he tries terribly hard to conceal himself.

Frankenstein is a folktale.

He has already done the grocery shopping and ship maintenance (a little polishing here and there), so all that is left to do is to get in, take what he wants, and get out. It isn't like Raskreia is using her soul weapon anyway. A shame it will be to let such a thing gather dust in some vault in an obscure part of the galaxy. It will be put to better use in his lab.

Frankenstein has already memorised the layout of this station, and while security is a challenge, he has always been one for challenges. Power crackles at his fingertips. He grinned. How fun.

* * *

"To Miss Raskreia, for her victory in the primaries!" Karias raises his glass high, almost spilling the apple juice from his champagne glass.

"To the future Madam President of the Democratic Republic of the Delta Phi System." Edian raises her glass—apple cider—with a bit more grace.

Gejutel and Claudia follow suit.

Raskreia smiles behind her's, filled with actual champagne. She sips the velvety liquid. "Thank you," she says, her voice habitually firm. "But we should not make assumptions this early," because while this initial victory does very much please her—she hopes her smile is not too smug—there are still seven months of campaigning left.

Gejutel sits back, his delicate glass of grape juice looking more like a toy against his large frame. "Only a fool would not vote for the Lor—ahem, Miss Raskreia," he says gruffly, his arm crossing over himself.

Raskreia sighs, fondness hidden behind her lashes. It is hard to resist an excuse to see their ageless faces. Ageless except for perhaps Gejutel, who, if Raskreia's eyes are not deceiving her, seems to have added a couple more wrinkles to his forehead.

They will all go back to their ships and cars and bikes and head off after this—all of them have day jobs, after all—and Raskreia will be left with only Edian, who has so far been an indispensable campaign director. She smiles gently at her and catches Edian's eye.

Edian smiles back. "I'm certain you'll win," she said, her soft voice just between them, as everyone else seems to be distracted by each other, mostly Karias, who is giving a dramatic speech, a tear in the corner of his eye and a rose held to his chest.

"Thank you." Raskreia nods at her. "You have worked very hard for me."

"As is my duty."

The phone buzzing in her pants pocket breaks the moment between them. Raskreia answers.

"Miss Erga Kenesis di Raskreia, Ragnarok has been stolen," says the deep monotonous voice on the other end.

"And the thief?"

"Unverified and being tracked down as we speak."

Raskreia closes her eyes, breathes out, and then stares unamused into the distance. She hopes this will not negatively affect her poll numbers.

* * *

Frankenstein stands from his seat, eyes wide and grin wider as the remaining fighter ships continued to shoot at him, some shots landing, some shots missing, but all of them thrilling. Occasionally, Gilgamesh rumbles from the blows, but as exciting as the chase is, Frankenstein is in the mood for something with a little more… impact.

Dark Spear crawls up his arms, burning so familiarly, almost like a comfort, a lover, and a blazing purple races through the veins of the ship. Gilgamesh is awake.

He pulls the ship back into a violent arc, turning to face the two front channels (more accurratedy, two stacks of three) at his pursuers. Dark Spear leaps across space, crashes into the fighters, hard enough to send sparks flying, flinging two of the three ships into the distance, but not quite hard enough to disintegrate whomever was piloting.

Gilgamesh stills. Frankenstein looks at the last pursuer. A voice transmission: "Would you like to continue?" he asks.

The fighter putters away.

He lets out a satisfied huff and turns around. Raizel is watching him. "Did you enjoy the show, Master?"

A short silence. "Ragnarok…"

"Raskreia gave it up when she announced her run for presidency," an impressive PR stunt, Frankenstein admits. "She doesn't need it anymore." He walks over to the wall on which he hastily leaned the sword and picks it up, feeling the weight in his hand, turning it over to watch it gleam. The power it exudes almost feels oppressive; indeed, not a great look for a president. "This one, I believe, is the whole Ragnarok." He turns to Raizel. "You never told me about the Lord's 'gift'."

Raizel's lips part as if to say something.

"Well, it doesn't matter now." Frankenstein looks back at the blade, his eyes sliding down to the golden hilt. "I suppose I should take this to the lab." He gives a long glance at Raizel before walking past him.

Raizel watches for a breath or two. "Frankenstein."

"Hm?"

"Will you allow me to accompany you?"

Something resembling endearment creeps into his expression. Frankenstein sighs. "Yes," he says.

Raizel follows closely behind, eyes on Frankenstein's back, weaving through the locks of his hair, layers of spun gold. "You have not changed—" a faint smile, his voice low "—as rebellious as you ever were."

A short chuckle. Frankenstein looks over his shoulder. "So I am, Master."


	6. Chapter 6

Raizel watches Frankenstein work from the chair he has been considerately provided. He can not understand how the doors work, much less what it is that scrolls by on the screens or evaporates in bottles or glows different colors. But he understands the quiet joy Frankenstein feels when he wears his lab coat. And it is too precious, too fleeting for Raizel to bring up the past in this moment, to ask him if Frankenstein has returned to his old ways, to remind him of whom he calls 'Master.'

A criminal they call him, and Raizel wonders if Frankenstein is feared. To Raizel, he looks alone again, as if they had never found each other over two thousand years ago. Frankenstein does not say 'Master' as he did before Raizel's slumber. Not once has Frankenstein bowed, and Raizel will not ask him to—will never.

He watches. He waits. He can do nothing else. He has always watched. He has always waited. For what? Nothing. Nothing but his duty that he no longer has. And in a single moment, it is as if Frankenstein has become his entire world, has become all he knew, the only familiar thing in this ship and this universe, and yet, Raizel feels a stranger.

He did not know what to feel when Frankenstein had told him of the Union, of the traitors: noble criminals that were once under the Noblesse's domain, and Raizel had not been there to sentence them. Not there to perform his duty and so Frankenstein picked up that burden as well, when he had already been carrying the heavens. Raizel watched. And Frankenstein waited, and waited, for nothing.

"You're not nothing, Master." Frankenstein is looking at the Ragnarok on a panel in the wall, a finger running along the flat of the blade.

Raizel's eyes light up for a moment before he pulls them away from Frankenstein, gaze falling to the side. He will not call Frankenstein a liar.

"I searched for you; I waited for you; I lived, and it was for you too, for a while." Frankenstein lets out a long, soft sigh. "You were… everything."

You _were._

Frankenstein's expression tightens. The first few years after the disappearance were difficult, but he managed to distract himself with the fervor of the search for Raizel. Then, the years slowed, and it was agonizing, because he had always known his master was still out there, somewhere and alive, the bond between them reminding him of his continued failure. Everything he did, he did for Raizel. Up to a certain point.

Because Frankenstein looks to Raizel now, and he no longer sees a god. Perhaps back then, on Lukedonia, he had been desperate to worship and love, just someone, just one person, and while he is not religious, perhaps his soul had prayed to _please, let this person be true, just this once_ and that would be enough. Perhaps the curtains had been pulled back, and the rabbit was never inside the hat.

Frankenstein gazes pensively at the sword and sees his reflection in the blade. "You left. Without a word." And eventually, Frankenstein had found new lives, new people, and so did everyone else, even some of the traitors. Urokai and Zarga, after having seen reason, had joined Frankenstein, and he had let them into his home and even his bedroom. Urokai and him, they had kept each other company.

Raizel and Frankenstein look at each other. They do not know what more to say.

* * *

Frankenstein has donned his favorite bright green lashes, luminous and semi-transparent, and they glow and pulse with the neon lights of this establishment. The rhythm of the music rattles his chest, and he walks forward to the foot of the circular stage, surrounded by other gentlemen, eyes and hands where they should or should not be. Frankenstein does not appreciate being so close to such people, but for tonight, he is one of them.

He looks up at the performer, a lithe, youthful dark haired male in skimpy black and gold with just enough musculature to carry himself around the pole with grace. Frankenstein produces his card from one of the slim pockets of his suit with a touch of sleight of hand and inserts it into one of the small machines at the edge of the stage that rapidly withdraws money for as long as a card is inserted, displaying the amount withdrawn on the screen.

A few hundred is normal for such a place. A few thousand if one is having a _really_ good time. Ten, fifteen thousand is asking for something. Frankenstein does not pay attention to the screen. His eyes are trained on the dancer's movements, motions as if they mean something, anything at all. Searching for poetry, perhaps. Hand to card to machine.

"Feeling lonely?" Someone besides him has taken notice. Frankenstein looks over to see the man look back at him then to his hand still pressing the card into the slot then back to him again. "Frankenstein, right?"

He withdraws his card and tucks it away. "The one and only." Frankenstein gives the screen a glance. Twenty thousand.

"What's someone like you doing here?" The man gives him a smile he never asks for.

"Oh, and what am I like?"

He shrugs. "Someone who would have better things to spend his money on?" He looks quickly at the dancer and inserts his own card. "Or is it that you have too much money?" He turns to Frankenstein again and keeps his eyes on him this time, leaning in. Short red hair, red eyes, blue lashes, a forked tongue—a body mod. "If you wanted a little fun, I won't charge a dime." He grins.

Frankenstein gives him a look. A subtle smirk.

The man withdraws his card.

Twenty-one thousand.

They are at the edge of the room, the man leaning against the wall. He pulls a vial out of a pocket and places a small white pill on his extended tongue. An invitation as he looks up at Frankenstein, his lips parted. 'Moondust' they called it.

Frankenstein leans down. Feels a hand tangle in his hair and a split tongue slide past his lips. Hips pressed to his.

Repulsive.

When they finally part, the man's face flushed, his lips wet, Frankenstein finds a slip of paper in his hand. "I gotta go," he says and lets out a breathy chuckle. "Remember to call me, old man." He gives Frankenstein a last sharp smile as he leaved.

Frankenstein tosses the number.

He isn't his type.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite all his wealth, death is not a luxury he can afford, even as he time and time again puts his neck under the guillotine. Sometimes, he wonders what it is like to die. To finally rest and rest well. But Frankenstein knows, his soul is not his own. To give up this world and this life and this body, Dark Spear would have him. He sold himself to the Devil millenia ago, and he knows what is his due.

To simply rest, that is all he wants.

Frankenstein sighs at the shredded and charred sheets on his bed. His hands still sting from Dark Spear's company. After so long, he had thought he will be numb to such nightmares, or at least have gotten used to them by now, but he has an innovative lover. Nothing less, of course.

Frankenstein runs a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat on the locks that cling to his face and gathers the ruined sheets, folding them over his arm. He opens his door. "Oh, Master?"

Raizel is standing in front of him, in the dim hall. How long has he been here?

Raizel glances away for a moment, almost withdrawing. His voice is soft. "Since the start… I've been here." He looks back at Frankenstein, eyes intent now. With what? Frankenstein can't tell.

"You heard."

Raizel nods.

"My apologies, then."

 _I don't need your apology._

It is almost as if Raizel had worked himself up to stand in this hallway, in front of this door, in front of Frankenstein, to look at him, to see him, and he does not want to part ways just yet. "How long, Frankenstein?" he ventures to ask.

How long? How long since he dared himself to break Master's seal? How long since he realized that Master has no hold on him now and neither does he have one on Master? How long since Dark Spear became his whore? "Eight hundred years," is his answer. There is always a thrill to a broken seal. When he burned and screamed and suffocated, a mouth full of fangs and curses, it is _entertainment_.

Raizel's eyes shift, an expression of melancholy. "Frankenstein—" Apologies are unneeded. He considers for a moment, looking down. Then, he places his hands on the sheets in Frankenstein's arms and peers into his eyes with a breath, with a wide, innocent hope. "Rest," Raizel says, as if it were a promise. Gently, he takes the sheets, and quietly, he leaves with them.

Space echos their silence.

* * *

M-21 watches the news footage of Gilgamesh taking off, amused. He is surprised Frankenstein did not steel Ragnarok earlier. Raskreia appears on screen and gives a brief statement, assuring the public this problem will be rectified and Ragnarok returned, not that the soul weapon poses much of a danger in the first place in the hands of someone else; it can only be used by its proper wielder, and that wielder is Raskreia. It is a museum piece at most now, though a highly valued one.

Lunark leans on the counter beside him, a bland, overpriced nutrient bar in her hand from one of the dining hall's machines. "You'd think he would have better things to do. Doesn't he ever get bored of that stuff?"

M-21 snorts. "He does it _because_ he's bored." Never change, Frankenstein. Troublemaking is in his matter.

"It would be nice to see him again though," Lunark says, a hint of wistfulness in her tone.

M-21 gives her a sly look. "Just look him up online. His vain ass is always posing for pictures."

A blip in their earpieces. "Listening," M-21 says.

"We're here." Zarga's voice.

"Don't keep us waiting." Urokai.

It seems suitable that the team now put in charge of hunting down what is left of the Union's crippled legs are former Union agents themselves, though Lunark is the newest member. She has spent most of her time before helping Dorant and Kentas get the werewolves in order after they decided that their old system of strongest fighter becomes new Lord has not turned out favorably for them in the past.

They have received information about Ignes' whereabouts from headquarters, and to their surprise, she has been tracked down to one of Jupiter's moons, an old colony close to their old home. How nostalgic. M-21 smiles at the thought of seeing her again, and then punching her in the face, preferably with the new arm he got to replace the one she had taken from him during one of her _fantastic_ experiments. His powers weren't good enough to regrow another one, to her disappointment. Poor her.

Lunark tosses her wrapper in a nearby trash bin. "Ready?"

"Yeah." M-21 pushes himself off the counter, flexing his cybernetic fingers.

They all had agreed to a short rendezvous at the nearest station to them all, which turns out to be more of a satellite that resembles a blocky piece of what would have been considered modern art eight hundred years ago. They find each other in the plaza.

"What's the plan?" Lunark crosses her arms.

"We go to Europa, we find her, we get her," is Urokai's contribution, the look in his eyes suggesting this is the most obvious thing in the galaxy. To his credit, it is.

The werewolf raises her eyebrows at him, her mouth a flat line. "Impeccable, flawless. I can't think of any detail left out."

M-21 shrugs. "Sounds good to me."

Lunark makes a face, a combination of disbelief and disapproval of a nonexistent odor.

Urokai nods.

Zarga wandered over to a quaint stand to refill on coffee.

* * *

Europa is still mostly ice, even after efforts to warm it by generating and then trapping heat in the atmosphere, as humans had done so well on Earth, but at least the air is substantial enough to breathe now, not that one would consider taking off their helmet and suit on this rock. Europa now is just another research site. Apparently, people don't like living on a giant, radioactive icicle very much, and neither does Ignes. This moon—this solar system—is a rat's ass, which maker it a decent place for a hideout, at least for a while until those three musketeers plus one idiot come chasing after her. No, she is wrong; they're all idiots, and annoying ones at that.

Ignes leaps just as Dragus slams into the ground beside her.

"Careful!" Zarga wraps the chain of his own weapon around his fist. "You'll break the ice."

"The ice is kilometers thick; it's fine." Urokai charges forward at her, carving an arc in the air with his blade, drawing blood from her arm as Ignes pushes herself back, only to be struck by the neon blasts of the fighter ship above her.

Lunark circles the scuffle, continuing to fire and hoping not to hit Urokai—they are too close—not that he can't take a few hits, but, "Zarga, you get in there! Urokai, step back!"

Urokai lets out an annoyed huff but realizes that, yes, Zarga's chain is longer than his glaive and so withdraws, Zarga's own blade slicing right past his face. "Watch it!"

He eyes the ice beneath his feet. Zarga drives the head of his weapon under, and it reemerges beneath Ignes, tossing ice in every direction, causing her to leap up, placing her closer to Lunark's fire.

Four against one is hardly fair, and Ignes doesn't even have a soul weapon. Her father, too weak willed, too much of a coward to even hand it over when he had surrendered himself. Ignes grits her teeth. Truly, she only has herself. That is all that mattered. She strikes back, one hand aiming her modular blaster at Lunark's fighter, the other readying her whip, one she had made after her father's betrayal. Her own damn father, be damned. She doesn't need him. Didn't need anyone. The blaster folds up, and she quickly tucks it away at her back and swings her whip towards Zarga, forming small cracks on the surface of the ice with just the power emitted.

Zarga's weapon clangs against the segmented and serrated cable of the whip.

"Urokai, get in your fighter," Lunark commands. "You'll be more useful up here."

"Leave a little space for me for a second?" M-21 darts towards Ignes' back.

Lunark ceases fire, taking the time to charge up the particle cannon, whirring it to life.

M-21's new claws screech against the whip, almost glowing with heat as they clash. A mistake when he decides to catch the cable in his hand, as Ignes spins and tosses him into air, aiming him at Lunark's cannon, an easy feat, considering Europa's weak gravity. M-21 practically flies.

Fortunate, that M-21 catches himself, only rocking the fighter a little upon impact, and he leaps off not a beat later but still falls towards Ignes slower than he would have liked, overestimating the acceleration of his fall.

Her heels dig deep into the ice in an attempt to stop herself from sliding a back a light year as her and Zarga's weapons crash. Ice does not provide much friction and her lighter weight on this moon only exacerbates the problem. When she swings again, slicing at both Zarga and M-21, she barely misses Urokai's fighter, sweeping by low to the ground.

A breath, a step, a strike from M-21's plasma gun, mounted on his arm. A light, a burning, a ringing from the cannon from above.

Tears in Ignes's suit leave her skin exposed. She huffs. This is dumb; this is stupid.

"Just cooperate, Ignes," Zarga says. "It'll be easier for everyone."

"Easier?" Ignes straightens herself. She laughs. "I never took you for a comedian, Zarga."

"What're you going to do?" M-21 still has his gun aimed. "Kill all four of us?"

With an almost cutesy spring, she turns to M-21, her hands behind her back. "That's right."

A rumble beneath their feet, something tosses the tides of the ocean far under them. To either side of her glows something bright and hot and blue behind the veil of ice. Water and steam erupt, like two waterfalls falling in reverse. Ignes smiles sweetly.

They are chimeras, a fairytale of the marriage of the organic and the machine, of power and control. Nostalgic in their resemblance to armored arthropods from a time even before humans walked the earth, their veins and wires and many eyes glow with the technology of fusion and combustion. They lift their heads high, their sharp front legs slamming into the ice, and they can easily tower over the three fighter vehicles stacked on top of each other. They hum the song of destruction.

"Gaia, Uranus, why don't you introduce yourselves?"

Urokai clicks his tongue. Perhaps they should have come with a better plan.


	8. Chapter 8

It seems, every waking moment, Raizel is watching him, as if Frankenstein breathes for him. He would turn around and meet his long gaze. When he sees red, that red watches him back, silently, a ghost that follows him, that has never left him. Normally, Frankenstein would ignore such a call from Urokai a few moments longer, just to add tinder to his ire, but perhaps it is Raizel's presence that prompts his desire for a vague distraction. "You have me, congratulations," he says to the to the projection in the center of the lounge.

"Frankenstein! I don't care where you are, get over here right now." Urokai is hardly looking at him, eyes darting around to something else, mouth tight in irritated concentration. A loud crash, a rocking, a rumble. "I've sent you my location," the coordinates appearing in the bottom right of the projection.

Frankenstein checks his own location on a screen detailing the ship's general conditions near the projection hub. "I'm 1.7 megaparsecs away," he states.

"Get your ass over here! I swear—" Urokai jerks to the side from some force; a white flash obscures his projection.

"Describe the situation."

"Ignes and two giant bugs."

"Can't squish them yourself?" Urokai's glare stops him before he can chuckle. "Fine." Frankenstein crosses his arms. "Ten minutes." He sighssand ends the call.

While Gilgamesh is fast, travelling the traditional way would mean at least a 200 hour trip at immensely faster than light speeds. It is far faster, then, to bring the destination to him rather than make the sprint towards it.

Frankenstein scans his biometrics in the panel just in front and below the holographic projection of the star map that has replaced Urokai's face. A password, and the ship is warming up, generating energy in its reactors to power the Lexda drive. While he has his reservations about the Lexda Arms Corporation, Frankenstein appreciates the immense convenience of their technology. Though perhaps convenience is an understatement. It is, after all, a very pretty warp drive.

* * *

"Can't fuckin' believe…" Urokai mutters to himself, turning his fighter hard, finally able to fire his cannon after the cooldown. "Can't she give it a break!" Bigger, badder abominations; Titan had already been a handful, and now this. And for what? Urokai can not understand. He sees Gaia rise up, the marks that resemble eyes running down its belly glowing, its back legs cutting deep into the ice as the four front ones slash at both Lunark and M-21 flying low. Zarga is still on the ground, despite Urokai screaming at him to get in the fighter. They only have three, and he thinks it more effective if he is utilizing his powers closer to the two bugs rather than just taking up space next to Urokai.

Ice and blood and metal and debris, such loud, obnoxious destruction, and it is utterly pointless to Urokai.

What is Ignes to do if she were to get away? Restart the Union? Urokai scoffs at the thought. And yes, prison sucks, but under their current jurisdiction, she is not going to be executed, and she will live through her sentence; that is just noble anatomy.

A loud boom, a laser piercing through metal, blood on his suit. Pointless.

Zarga is exhausted, his movements slower, his suit a mess and helmet cracked, but still, he swings his chain, and still, beams and lasers sweep the monsters. Urokai isn't sure how much longer he can stay in the air, a minute, maybe, according to the warnings and alerts flashing in his face.

Zarga is knocked back, he stumbles, falls. Uranus charges.

Urokai's eyes widen, his teeth clenched. Not even time to breathe. Sweeping low, the deep sound of the laser vibrating the back of his already bruised head, Urokai directs the violet beam at its legs, carves heat into its chest, pushing Uranus back as he throws himself to its right. One of its eyes, a light, a burning, a severing of a turret from under his fighter's wing.

Urokai crashes into the ice as it rumbles again from the ocean tides, streaking across the surface, his activated landing mechanisms doing little steady himself again. "Damn!" He pushes and pulls at the controls, unresponsive. Presses at a few lasers, their aim broken. He kicks in his seat. "I'm going to kill him if he doesn't get here right now!"

And lo and behold, a fission parted the sky, tore through space—a portal, a heavenly gate, an asshole that spits out Gilgamesh like a colorful afterthought.

Urokai lets out a huff as he wrangles himself out of the spacecraft. "Fine, he can live then," he mumbles.

Frankenstein leaps out of the ship's opening belly, helmet and suit matching the color and glimmer of the ice.

"What? Why are you getting out? The ship has guns!" Urokai shouts, running over to him.

Frankenstein narrows his eyes at him. "Warping is costly; Gilgamesh has to cool down. The heavy defense systems don't work." He turns to the continuing fight, the two remaining fighters managing to keep pace enough to cause the arthropods to start to stumble. Frankenstein grins. "It's been a while since I last had a good fight anyway," old fashioned claws and blood and bone. "Tell Zarga to take a break, make sure nothing happens to Gilgamesh. You, get in there with me." And Frankenstein is off, Dark Spear already singing at his fingertips.

The force of the blows can be felt from even inside the fighters. Dark Spear roars as if they were a parade, and it only takes them a few moments to cover Frankenstein, almost making his white suit pointless. Frankenstein is a churning, dark silhouette. So long, _too_ long, he think—they think. They are a supernova, the final death throes of a star.

When Frankenstein breathes, his lungs are full of fire, his throat silent with caught laughter. When he throws arcs and spears and darkness, when he feels the piercing of suffering itself, something bubbles and boils within him, something grand and old.

Like love.

Zarga slumps down at Gilgamesh's feet, feeling dwarfed by the towering shapes of the ship. He winces at his open wounds before letting out a breath, too worn to be bothered by the cold seeping into the rips in his suit. A part of him wonders why Urokai had to call Frankenstein of all people to help. They are, after all, part of the police force and could have requested backup from elsewhere. Another part of him admits Frankenstein is a lot more fun. And a lot more dangerous. Their team doesn't have access to something like the Gilgamesh or Dark Spear, and hopefully, they will never need to.

He watches on, only slightly nervous at the sight of Frankenstein. Zarga supposes he should have gotten used to it by now, after all the times witnessing him fight, but each successive battle with the Union made Frankenstein no tamer. No, his power grew; he was a collector of souls, as if he were starving, as if he were a tale nobles would tell their children. _Don't misbehave or Frankenstein will come and eat your soul._

Footsteps, Zarga looks up. Raizel stands by him, no helmet and no closed suit, but that does not seem to affect him much. Zarga stands up, though a bit sluggish. He bows his head. "Sir Raizel," he says, to which he is acknowledged with a nod.

Raizel looks forward again, to the beasts, to his bonded. Zarga turns, blinks, and Raizel is away as well.


	9. Chapter 9

Raizel stands, his feet firmly planted, eyes trained on the center of the destruction and the noise. Frankenstein is fangs and flame and feelr far more like perdition than Raizel remembereds.

"Oh, a newcomer, I see."

Raizel turns. "Ignes Kravei."

Ignes holds her whip at her side. Her eyes widen in her realization. "Cadis Etrama Di Raizel…" and something resembling fury crosses her face. She stepps back, grip tightening around her weapon. "Your brother told us he had dealt with you!"—she glances to the side, her voice lowered—"You're supposed to be dead," she mutters like a curse.

A spear at her head.

An impact, Ignes's arms crackle with the remnants of Dark Spear's ravenous lightning.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation over there." Frankenstein smiles at her. "Come join the fun, Ignes." His voice is pure joy, violet and violent eyes full with a sort of madness that is not entirely his own. Something inside him hurts, and he wants to be hurt.

This, Raizel can tell.

"Sir Raizel! Please, go back to the ship," Urokai shouts, leaping away from Gaia's beam.

Frankenstein appears by Ignes, driving a canyon into the ice by her with his strike, watching her blood spill and freeze. "Awfully rude to ignore an invitation."

"Don't kill her!" Urokai's Dragus clangs against the armor of the beast as he gives Frankenstein a look.

Ignes thrown back, Frankenstein turns to Uranus, claws extended. A cascade, a force of dark power shoves the creature onto its back and as it scrambles to find its footing again on the ice, the cannons from above take aim.

Water erupts from a ridge nearby.

Frankenstein laughs.

Raizel watches.

The first and only time Raizel had witnessed Frankenstein so consumed by Dark Spear, he was unthinking, incapable of even speech, a thrumming of wills and souls and fear, a grin full of hate. Now, even with Frankenstein seemingly capable of keeping himself, Dark Spear is unlike before. They are monstrous. They are monsters. Malevolent gods cut up and then stitched together in a cacophony of tragedy after tragedy, a keeper of souls and sins.

They laugh right along with Frankenstein, or maybe it is Frankenstein who laughs along with them. Crash after crash after burn.

Such power electrifies the air and perhaps Raizel could cut himself if he just reaches out towards Frankenstein. It feels like breathing corrosion. Crushed under the tide of Dark Spear, body painted with curses and still Frankenstein laughs, still he grins, as if the curses kept him alive, as if it doesn't hurt.

Raizel watches, and he judges.

It is best to end this quickly.

The sky is ruby red. Raizel's wings spans even the length of the two monsters.

"What?" Urokai looks up.

"Master!"

In the air, his hand outstretched, blood from his eyes, it drips down his chin. It falls on the ice. Space bends, curls in on itself, two cosmic vortexes. They tear apart the creatures like stars, swallow them up, fold over themselves. They are gone, as if they never existed in the first place, and it is finally quiet.

Raizel's feet delicately touched the ground. He gazes at Ignes. He does not have to order her kneel.

Ignes sits back on her heels, her head down, her shoulders trembling. She is laughing.

Urokai looks frantically between them before dismissing Dragus and standing at attention, clearing his throat. "Ignes Kravei, you are under arrest," he announces.

Raizel watches Frankenstein approach, once again in white. He is aware of the blood spilling from his mouth, but Frankenstein holds his wrist before he can wipe it away. Raizel coughs red onto Frankenstein's suit.

"Go back to the ship, wait for me in your room," he tells Raizel. He releases him.

Raizel does so.

Frankenstein turns around, seeing Ignes being ushered into Lunark's craft, Urokai and Zarga standing by.

"Hey." M-21 waves. "Who the heck was that?"

"He's…" Frankenstein looks towards Gilgamesh again, his eyes distant. "A friend, from a long time ago."

"Weird friend. Anyway, thanks for the help." A pause. "But we're supposed to arrest you too, y'know."

"Oh, can't I get off with a warning, _Officer?_ " Frankenstein tilts his head, flashing a handsome smile.

M-21 snickers. He sighs, a soft kick at the ice. "I'll see you around, Frankenstein," he concludes and begins to turn away. "And this never happened; you were never here.

"Of course."

M-21 gets back in his still surprisingly functional fighter and takes off after Lunark.

"Wait!" Urokai jumps up with a realization. "Our…ship…"

Frankenstein's expression pincher as both Urokai's and Zarga's eyes fall on him. He sighs, defeated. "Let's go," he says and heads towards Gilgamesh. "Urokai, you fall a step behind and I'm leaving you here."

* * *

Seated once again on his bed, Raizel still can not shake the heaviness in his limbs or the discomfort in his core, a weakness. He wonders if Frankenstein is upset with him. He got his suit dirty, after all.

"Frankenstein," Raizel acknowledges.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am fine."

"You're not." Frankenstein leans against the doorframe. "What you did was unnecessary. We could have handled it ourselves."

Raizel's throat is tight. He looks at Frankenstein, as if his eyes can apologize. "You were hurting," _you were dying_.

Frankenstein pauses. taken aback. "That… should not concern you, Master."

Raizel's fingers curl tighter on his lap. He looks down. "It does, Frankenstein."

"It's a waste of lifeforce."

"I wanted to help."

A silence.

Frankenstein parts from the doorframe. "I should check on you in the lab. Please come with me, Master."

They walk down the corridors Raizel is still trying to learn, only the sound of their footsteps being any communication between them. After a turn and an elevator, "My brother…" Raizel wonders quietly.

"Taken care of." Another door slides open for them. "I made sure of it."


	10. Chapter 10

There are motherships, and then there is _Mother_. Neither ship nor station, it is a metropolis, resembling a mushroom or jellyfish, a colossal engineered bloom against the dark backdrop of space. The fanning of what looks like articulated blades—Mother's "wings," they call it—form the top, and the eight "legs" of the structure, each one its own city with a population of approximately 900,000, emerge from under and within those wings, shielded by them. Mother is a fantasy realized, the stuff of the dreams of gods. But it is no work of divinity.

It has taken 188 hours to travel from the mostly abandoned Europa to the vibrant hum of a constantly dancing civilization, and getting through port security of the city of La Alma is much easier with the two officers on board. Urokai has always been eager to show off his badge.

As they dock, Raizel watches the countless ships fly, flutter, whizz by, all designs and destinations. They have somewhere to go, somewhere to belong, as they cut through the artificial sky and constructed mist and clouds. From even just the sweeping windows of the control deck, Raizel sees the bright scrolling letters projected in the air above a gateway a short distance away: "Warp Shuttle Station 27B" with smaller ships flying in and out. And as he looks up above him, he can make out the distant rooftops and towers of the city on one of the other legs, as if La Alma is reflected in the sky. It is _so much_. Everything everywhere.

Raizel is dwarfed. Lukedonia was small; his manor smaller. Himself, dust, and just as useless. The world is beyond his own comprehension, and as he breathes in, he wonders what it would be like if he stops doing just that. Stops breathing. It seems to hardly matter. If he had truly died over a millenia ago, the ships would still fly; they move, they move on.

"Here." Frankenstein hands Raizel a small metallic square and a black wrist band of sorts. "Your phone." He presses on a circular symbol, and the square unfolds in Raizel's palm. "My contact information is already on here and so is Urokai's and Zarga's," he says, showing where to find it. "You can also use it just like this." Another button and the phone folds up again. Frankenstein presses it into the slot on the band and secures it to Raizel's wrist. "Convenient." A little smile, and Raizel almost smiles in return.

"La Alma is a large city, if you get lost, call." Frankenstein turns to Urokai and Zarga, both seated on the center bench that wraps around them in a half circle, Zarga on his own phone, the small wrist projection displaying some sort of news article while Urokai stares back at him. "They can show you around."

"And what makes you think we'll bring him back to _you?_ " Urokai spits.

"I will return," Raizel states, unthinking as if he has any authority, before he catches himself, glancing over to Frankenstein. He hopes he has not imposed upon him.

"You heard him." Frankenstein sneers at Urokai.

His faint smile is one of relief. Raizel nods. "I am your hostage, Frankenstein."

"Indeed," Frankenstein says, seemingly satisfied with himself. "I will see you later, then." And he leaves, down corridors and elevators to rooms Raizel cannot see.

* * *

Frankenstein looks at the graphs of the spatial distortions noble souls like to cause. Ragnarok's and Raizel's are similar, almost as if they resonate with each other.

The data he has gathered about Raizel the past few days confirm his ill health. Master is deteriorating, unable to keep his physical form consistently intact enough to not cough up the noble version of blood. Why didn't Master tell him? He never tells him anything.

He is always so quiet.

Frankenstein frowns.

'I wanted to help,' Raizel said, and Frankenstein held his tongue— _I don't need it_. He had done quite well for himself without him. Had done _better_ than he would have had he stayed on Lukedonia with Raizel, explored worlds he wouldn't have traveled, hunted criminals he wouldn't have met, realized things he wouldn't have seen. Frankenstein is devoted but only to things that are real, and for a long while, Raizel didn't exist.

' _I wanted to help._ ' Frankenstein laughs quietly to himself. If only Raizel had let him do the same.

He takes out his phone.

"I'm in La Alma. When are you coming?"

* * *

People, paid them no mind as they stroll through what is referred to as 'Angeltown,' a neighborhood of sorts centered around a plaza that was a popular tourist destination with a colorful collection of businesses and events, complete with a lake a grass.

They walk slowly, Raizel looking around with wide, curious eyes at the signs and shops, some with beaming electronic displays and lights, others with lovingly painted details. He looks at the visitors and they too are a marvel. Humans and nobles and werewolves, he can recognize, but there are others he cannot, wearing anatomy and colors that are new to him, and there are those who exist in between them, mixed. Raizel knows it is rude to stare at strangers for too long, but he cannot help a glance at an extra pair of insectoid legs, or a different nose, or an extra set of eyes. But what catcher his attention the most is that he cannot sense souls from some of them; perhaps they are unnecessary to certain species. Strange, when his own existence is that of judging souls.

Something taps at the tall window display. Raizel stops and looks down. It resembles a small headless dog constructed of smooth white parts and motors. In place of a head and neck is a circular screen. An eye displayed in pixels blinks at him. Raizel watches. It mimicks life, but he cannot sense any from it. He looks up. The holographic sign reads, 'B. Bot Emporium' and in smaller text, 'since 2727'.

"Would you like to go in, Sir?" Zarga asks.

Raizel nodr and walks in, the glass doors opening for him even without him having to will it to. What strange wonders of the world. Even though they have already seen several of these doors, Raizel takes a last look behind him to watch it close on its own again.

"Welcome!" greets the large interactive display to their left. Inside, customers leisurely look over the displays and some aro interacting with the different smaller models spinning or blinking or chirping on the long tables. The more humanoid ones are to the far right on a raised platform. Raizel spots the one that resembles the robot from the window on a long table. It blinks as he approaches. He stares for a moment before daring to touch it with a finger. It chirps, a sound that resembled electronic windchimes.

"Do you…want it?" Urokai leans forward to peer at the bot, then at the price tag displayed next to it. He has to keep himself from spluttering.

Raizel stares at the device for a little longer before nodding.

Urokai laughs nervously. He would gladly buy it for Sir Raizel, had he even had that amount of money in his account in the first place. "Uhm, let's check how much money Frankenstein gave you first." Urokai holds out his hand. "If I may have your wrist, Sir Raizel." It only takes him a couple seconds to realize that this is the first time they're touching, Raizel's hand turned up in Urokai's palm. He pauses before scolding himself for getting excited about such a juvenile thing. Still, he can't hide the smile from the light softness of Raizel's hand as he navigates the small screen. His smile stiffens when he sees the number.

22,000.

He does splutter this time. That is more than three times as much as he makes a 'month.'

Raizel looks at him, concern knitting his brow.

"Oh, ah, it's nothing. You have…plenty."

Somewhere deep inside, Urokai is weeping.

* * *

Raizel sits on the bench between Zarga and Urokai, the bot on his lap.

"Welcome to the B. Bot experience!" chimes a voice from the robot as a loading circle fills the center of its 'face'. When done, the circle reveals an eye and blinks at him. "To give your new Buddy a name, say 'Hello' and then the name of your choice," the machine prompts.

Raizel turns to Zarga then Urokai.

"What do you want to call it?" Zarga leans in.

Raizel looks at the bot once again, brows furrowed in deep thought, eyes concentrated on the circular screen. After much bated breath, "Hello, Circle," he finally decides.

"Ah." Zarga holds a hand to his chin. "That's…"

"A _fine_ name!" Urokai interjects, smiling. "Good choice, Sir Raizel."

Raizel blushes.

After following some more setup instructions, Raizel carefully places Circle on the ground, and it hops and putters about for a bit, making small chirping noises.

Zarga smiles at the robot briefly, his arm around the back of the bench; then he turns his attention to Raizel. "Sir?"

Raizel looks at him.

"Muzaka actually works near here. I think he'd like to see you."

Raizel is silent for a moment. He nods and stands up.

Circle briskly bounds after them as they make their way to the bakery.

* * *

He has always received good business after Frankenstein helped get the word out. At this rate, Muzaka might be able to afford a real house in such an expensive city as La Alma, or any of Mother's other legs. The thought makes him chuckle as he kneads the dough (by hand no less; few things were done by hand nowadays).

To buy a home is to settle down, a mark of permanence. Muzaka had been a traveler for the longest time, or rather, a coward is a better word. Unthinking and irresponsible, always moving, fleeing from his duties. It was a good thing the werewolves had replaced him with another lord when he had disappeared after… _that_. If only they hadn't replaced an irresponsible fool with a power hungry lunatic. That is hardly any better, but Maduke is dead now, and Muzaka recalls something about it being rude to speak ill of the dead, or as dead as one can be within Dark Spear.

He leaves the dough for a moment to check on the oven, not that he really needs to. The oven will tell him when things are done, but old habits are hard to break. Frankenstein had been the one who taught him how to bake. "You need a hobby," he told him, and it was an excuse to get him to wear the pink apron, not that one was really needed. Frankenstein could have simply threatened him into wearing it and being the bus boy for the old household.

"Hey Dad, those cops are here to see you again, and they brought another guy, a noble."

Muzaka turns around. "Well, I wonder who he could be," he says with a grin. He can already sense him from here.

Imani gives him an incredulous look. "Just wash your hands; they're waiting," she says flatly, before putting on a fresh pair of gloves to decorate the small cakes.

Muzaka does as he's told, only slightly apprehensive.

Raizel watches him, expression unreadable as he emerges from the back room and walks to the table of three. "Hey," he says, hands in his pockets.

Raizel blinks once at him, which is more of a greeting than Muzaka expected, actually. Raizel smiles a little. Muzaka smiles a lot.

"And who is this?" Muzaka nudges at the robot at his foot, causing it to chime.

"Circle," Raizel answers.

"Hello, Circle!" Muzaka bends down to inspect, looking at the print on the bottom of its foot. "Oh, it's the new one, fancy." He stands back up. "But anyway, you guys mind if I steal Raizel for a second?"

"And where are you going to take him?" Urokai says with a glare.

He makes slow fireworks of his fingers in the air. "Where all the magic happens," he says to Raizel, to which Raizel nods and follows him.

"Please don't touch anything unless you've washed your hands or are wearing gloves," Imani says, her eyes and precision still glued to the cakes.

Muzaka looks apologetically at Raizel. "That's Imani, my daughter." He smiles proudly.

"She's human," Raizel observes quietly.

"You bet I am," Imani calls.

"Hey." Muzaka turned fully to Raizel. "I know this is old news, but what happened back then, the fight…I'm sorry." His voice is low.

Raizel shakes his head. "You were grieving."

"You're not going to deflect this, Raizel," Muzaka huffs, crossing his arms. "You stopped my dumb ass from doing something I would have regretted, and I hurt you. Not that I don't regret _everything else_." Muzaka smiles, gently this time. He sighs. "So, sorry, and thank you."

Raizel looks at Muzaka tenderly. "I am merely glad to see you well, Muzaka."

He blows air through his nose. His lips turn up. "You don't look too bad yourself!" Muzaka says as he slaps his friend's back and laughs. "Go back to the table, Raizel; I'll make you something." He held open the door. "Then you can tell me how much better I am than Frankenstein."

* * *

Urokai's small spoon smoothly sinks into the flan. He scoops a piece. "Sir Raizel, if I may ask, why? Why do you want to go back to him?" because Urokai sees how Frankenstein acts around him, and it is almost bizarre.

When back in Lukedonia, Urokai recalled the absolute irritation he felt at seeing that Frankenstein snake around the Noblesse, shamelessly displaying his bond. It had been apparent to any noble or anyone who could sense souls how wrapped up in each other they were, as if they were the same soul. The way Frankenstein would look at Urokai, knowing that he could not have what the human had; though Frankenstein's eyes may have been blue, Urokai only saw red back then.

It is different now, the silence between Raizel and Frankenstein colder; even Urokai notices. And this too somehow irritates him as well. That Frankenstein is a pain either way. _Do you love him or not?_ It should be simple.

"We don't have to go back to Gilgamesh. I can take you anywhere now that we're here."

Raizel silently looks at his slice of cake for a second or two before raising his eyes to Urokai. "I told him I would return." His brows crease. "I _must_ return."

"But… _why?_ "

"I cannot abandon my bonded."

"He hardly even _looks_ at you!"

"Urokai." Zarga gave him a stern gaze.

"Ah." Urokai settled back down in his seat, dropping his eyes. "I…my apologies."

Raizel smiles gently, sadly at him, and Urokai thinks he can die then and there. "I am aware of causing him grief, but"—Raizel's smile turns to himself, and to Urokai's eyes, it somehow gets even sadder, sweeter—"he chose to keep me."

Urokai's lips were tight.

"I know Frankenstein worries, and you do as well…Thank you."

"There is nothing to thank, Sir Raizel," because as much as Urokai hates to admit it, Frankenstein has never betrayed Raizel, unlike himself. That he played a role in hurting the person delicately eating cake across from him is, in fact, unforgivable. He was utterly selfish, yet still, "You forgave me—us" —he glances at Zarga, who nods seriously—"all those years ago, after you had returned home from stopping Muzaka…" and it had been Frankenstein who managed to weed out Urokai and Zarga after the incident; it had been Frankenstein who took fervent care, doing whatever he could to nurse his master back to health as best he could. "1,600 years later, and I still don't understand it." How could he have forgiven him?

"Neither of you truly wished ill will towards me. You were only lead astray. That you had willingly returned was worth forgiveness."

"You could have died then."

"I am still alive." Raizel smiles, cutting into his cake again. "And we are together again; that is what matters."

At this, Urokai is taken. He stares at Raizel, feeling his face warm. He can only smile and giddily eat his dessert.

"We are glad to have you back, Sir," Zarga responds instead.

Raizel continues to finish his cake as well.

Muzaka walks up to them again. "So, Raizel, isn't it the bes—oh, shit, is it that bad?"

"Sir?" Zarga leans forward.

Urokai's seat slides back as he abruptly stands. "Sir Raizel!"

Muzaka places a firm hand on Raizel's shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"

Raizel looks down. There were spots of red on the white tablecloth. He touched his chin and looked at his fingers as if he had never seen blood before. "I am…" _fine—'You're not.'_

"Let's go back," Zarga announces as he stands and pushes in his chair. "Thank you, Muzaka, for the food." He gives Raizel a nod.

Raizel is still for a moment. He has caused a scene, caused trouble, but at least he can follow instructions. He gets up. "I enjoyed your cake," he says quietly to Muzaka as they part.


	11. Chapter 11

Raskreia places her helmet in the storage space under the seat of her vintage motorbike and closes it with a dull thud. She sighs and walks into the ship.

Ragnarok stands tall, regal, humming with familiar power on the wall. She can feel it, even now, reaching out to her, and for a moment, she almost wants to reach out as well. But she has given up that role, that life, that power. Power for power, she seeks a different kind of leadership now. "How difficult was it to steal?" she asks.

Frankenstein shrugs. "Not anything I hadn't seen before. Routine."

The corner of her lips lifts just slightly. She lets out a soft huff through her nose. "I'm glad they're taking _such_ care."

"To their credit, I am exceptional at what I do."

"Of course you are." She turns her attention back to the sword. "It would be best if we got rid of this soon. You must understand, Frankenstein, that I cannot be closely associated with you at this time—"

"—or any time, it seems" Frankenstein adds.

Raskreia gives him a look of subtle irritation then amused concession. "And that Ragnarok being in the hands of someone like you is not ideal."

"Someone like _me?_ " Frankenstein raises his eyebrows, a smirk on his face, arms crossed over his chest.

Raskreia looks at him for a moment before turning back to Ragnarok. "I recognize the immense help you have provided for us—everyone—but you are reckless, Frankenstein. Your reputation is a testament to that."

"My reputation is a testament to my care. It took me a while to obtain it, you know."

"Believe what you will."

One of the lab doors whirrs open. Raizel steps in, though he isn't sure if he is supposed to. And oh.

"Oh." Raskreia turns around to fully face him. "So Frankenstein wasn't lying after all."

Raizel pauses for a moment to recognize her properly. "Erga Kinesis Di Raskreia," he greets. Her hair is shorter, just beneath shoulder length, and she has lost her fringe. A black short sleeved outer jacket conceals where her long bright blue glove on her right arm meets her top.

"Cadis Etrama Di Raizel," she says as if presenting each syllable to an audience. Then, quickly, she turns around, clasps Ragnarok, and points it at him. Light glints off the long blade.

"Frankenstein told me about your recent power expenditure. Data and my father's 'gift' to you suggest this may make up for that." Raskreia walks forward until the tip of the blade touches Raizel's abdomen. "You're certain this will work?" she asks Frankenstein. "I cannot have another's blood on my hands."

"If it does not work, I will take responsibility, and a simple puncture wound is easy enough to recover from." Frankenstein watches intently. "Take a deep breath, Master."

A searing pain blossoms in his stomach.

"Cadis Etrama Di Raizel, I give Ragnarok to you."

Frankenstein's mouth is tight, lips pressed to a thin line as his eyes narrowed. He curls his fingers to keep them from shaking. It is almost instinctively that he wants to call upon Dark Spear, but no, he knows what he is doing; he always knows.

Frankenstein sees a few drops of blood fall from the blade to the floor, and he is. reminded of long ago. Ebony hair, white shirt, the same red eyes, the same, the same—he wasn't. He remembers, he had mistaken that pitiful man for his pitiful master. His heart had risen and plummeted and he was suspended. He didn't know what would have been worse, to have really found Master back then or, as it happened, to discover that he was merely a sick lookalike. No, the latter was better.

Frankenstein remembers driving his own weapon home into the shape of his master, even though that wasn't really him. It was Raizel's brother who had been devoured, but in that instant, it was as if Raizel had died. _Dead to me_ , at last.

Raizel is in the air, and it is a peculiar feeling, the pain now warm and dull and bright, blanketing his body in light. When his feet once again touch the ground, he is full. He looks up. "Why?" he asks softly.

"Why not?" Raskreia responds flatly.

"Ragnarok is…a symbol of your power. It carries the souls of the Lords."

"No. It does not mean that anymore. I am not interested in that type of power. Ragnarok is a weapon, nothing more, and I have put it to good use in you."

"Do you know, Raizel, how we used to play god?" Raskreia glances at Frankenstein; _he_ knew. "The nobles you never caught, their soul weapons were just that, weapons: fear and tyranny for the sake of power that did not amount to nor mean anything." She gives Raizel a measured gaze. "There are no gods that can't eventually be manufactured." Raskreia looks between Raizel and Frankenstein. She nods. "I believe that is all you need me for. Good bye." And she departs, glad to have her hands free of Ragnarok.


	12. Chapter 12

"Hm, you seem quite alright." Frankenstein nods at the readings on the screen. He takes one last glance-over at Raizel. There is only a hole in the fabric of his suit. "Did you get new clothes while you were out?"

Raizel shakes his head.

"I see." He turns away again. "I guess I'll have to make you some then." He has not lost practice despite all of the time, even with the invention of new fabrics.

"You do not have to."

A pause.

"You're right," Frankenstein concedes, but, "I'll bring them to your room in a few hours." And that, is that.

Raizel knows, at least a little, how to take a hint. He nods and leaves.

* * *

He sits by his desk this time, Circle by his feet, making the occasional beep or chime. Raizel bends down to gently poke at its screen and wonders if there is a speak command of sorts. Normally, he would be accustomed to silence and isolation; this room and this city are merely different settings for the same millenia old experience. But Raizel finds himself thinking of the hum of the streets and shops and people. Muzaka laughing and Urokai and Zarga conversing about matters he is unfamiliar with. Doors creaking, footsteps, chatter, mechanical hums, and organic music. He does not mind the noise.

Back in Lukedonia, Frankenstein's melodic voice often drifted within the walls of the room in which Raizel liked to stand. Even if he did not show signs of acknowledging or responding, Frankenstein knew he always listened, and Raizel was always an attentive listener. That his bonded had chosen _him_ to reveal himself to, to speak in that voice as if Raizel were responsible for keeping his very secrets, to love him and trust him and entertain him in that way, it was a treasure. Perhaps Raizel should have tried harder to speak back.

The room is too quiet.

He approaches the window, takes a glance at the various shapes and ships and lights drifting by, and Raizel is filled by some strange desire to be somewhere else, to do _something_. Something akin to adventure. It has been a long time since his last one.

Urokai and Zarga have shown him the streets well enough, he thinks.

* * *

"It's been too long. I'm gonna look for him."

Zarga glances up from the case logs displayed on his wrist. "What's the occasion?"

"He could have gotten lost." Urokai fidgets in his seat.

"In his own ship?"

"The ship is big."

Zarga sighs. "Do whatever, but we can't 'play house' with them forever. If we're not going to catch Frankenstein now, we have other things to do, unless, of course, you want to get fired."

Urokai straightens. "Never!" He reaches into his pocket to feel his badge in its place.

"Good. We leave before tomorrow." Zarga returns to his case files.

A while passed, then a while more. "I can't find him!" Urokai announces as he plops on the seat next to Zarga once again.

"Did you try—"

"Yes," Urokai says before suddenly leaping to his feet once again. "Frankenstein!" His voice almost grates. "Where is Sir Raizel? What did you do with him?"

Frankenstein merely stands and blinks once, perhaps twice, looking unimpressed and slightly tired. "I couldn't find him in his room. I assumed, then, that he was with you."

"You lost him!"

"I was busy. You didn't keep an eye on him?" A terrible joke.

"Is that my job?"

" _Isn't it?_ " The police watch everything.

"Aren't you holding him hostage?"

"Aren't you arresting me?"

 _Aren't you both idiots?_ Zarga rolls his eyes, even though he should come to expect no one to make any sense by now, and decides to interrupt their domestic spat before anyone starts crying (probably Urokai) or things start to get broken (probably Frankenstein). "Just call him."

"I'll do it." Urokai flips over his wrist only to realize he hadn't recorded Raizel's information.

Frankenstein snickered. " _I'll_ do it."

* * *

 _At it again_ , he thinks as he darts through the city, looking for the same person, who just does the same thing. Frankenstein runs a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to keep it somewhat neat as he and Urokai make their way to the cross streets on the other side of the city.

The first time, Frankenstein initially kept track, kept counting the days and weeks and years and centuries he had ran and searched and ran and searched and… He had gotten so very tired. At times, he had wanted to just completely forget, to start over, to just, at last, live. And live for himself, but for a long while, everything he did, he did for _him_ , and for a long while, it made Frankenstein's soul sing. But, oh, it is all utterly, completely, _useless_.

 _Captain of my fate; master of my soul,_ but when everything is gone, it is gone, and his fate and soul are simply inconsequential.

Sweetened tea does not make those lost years any less bitter.

There is a pit in his stomach, something that made his breath want to shake, that made him feel simultaneously ill and anxious to think of either the past or the future. He just wants _now_ , as if he can freeze time and just live with the belief that Raizel is simultaneously missing and not missing, and he will not have to be confronted with the reality of it, because in the back of Frankenstein's mind, he fears the past repeating once again. He wonders what it will be like to leave Raizel there, to not search for him. Losing him twice is two times too many, and Frankenstein would rather not risk a third time. But no, that is impossible.

"Hey, are you okay?" and for once, Urokai almost sounds sensitive, though his expression still remains mildly irritating.

Frankenstein's eyes flicker to him. His smile is harsh. "You suddenly care now? Am I that easy to read?"

"I don't have to 'read' anything," and for once, Urokai takes a moment to think about his next words. "We've done this before, a lot."

Frankenstein keeps his eyes forward. "We have."

"We'll find him this time though."

Frankenstein blows air through his nose. He looks at Urokai and smiles a bit more genuinely. "We will."

When they spot Raizel in the distance, he is standing under the awning of a small theater building, taking shelter from the man made rain. He wears something different, a white suit, slim and similar to the one Frankenstein has, but with bright candy pink accents.

Raizel is gazing up, seemingly fascinated with the fall of water. He steps from beneath the cover and stands in the rain. Though he normally takes care in his appearance, he now, for a moment, finds those matters trivial, droplets trailing down his face, in between his eyes, over his lips, his fingers; rain is rain.

"Master."

"Sir Raizel."

Raizel nods at them.

"You disappeared, again." Frankenstein sighs. "If you want to head out on your own, please, at least tell someone." He looks over Raizel, recognizing the design of the suit. "Did you get this yourself?"

Raizel shook his head, then handed Frankenstein a slip of paper. A number. "He did."

Frankenstein looks at the paper, then back up at Raizel. What he wears isn't cheap; it is one of Karias' high end designs. To spend that much money on a stranger, well, the gentleman had to be as stupid as Frankenstein.

Frankenstein pockets the paper. "Are you ready to head back?"

Raizel picks up Circle from the ground and nods.

They take off.

* * *

Raizel's eyes rifle through the hanging fabrics and colors.

"Do you find them suitable?"

He nods, a little overwhelmed. "There are many."

Frankenstein reaches forward to feel a particular shirt. "This one…is like what you wore back home." He gazes gently at the smooth, white fabric, his fingertips gliding down the sleeve. And he is nostalgic. Black hair blown by the breeze, back to him framed by the window, how lonely. ' _That's my shirt,_ ' Raizel told him, and Frankenstein apologized. He almost smiled at the silly memory. "You can wear whatever you want."

Raizel looks at him, eyes honest. "Thank you," he says quietly.

And in return, a quiet "You're welcome."

They look at each other for a moment longer, and Raizel has a small, hopeful smile.

Frankenstein manages one of his own. He lowers his eyes. "I'm glad we were able to find you."

Raizel watches, slightly surprised and considering. "I am glad as well," he says. He has had his fill of getting lost for now.

* * *

Urokai and Zarga depart shortly after they all return, Urokai promising to arrest him next time, Frankenstein promising to take his other eye if he makes the attempt, and Zarga remarking that if that were the case, then at least Urokai's insurance would cover it, earning no laughs from anyone. They leave without sentimental goodbyes; it will be soon enough when they would see each other again.

When it returns to quiet, Frankenstein takes the opportunity to disappear. He is in the mood for something fun. Something akin to adventure.

He looks down from the edge of the skyscraper, watching the lights blink, like stars fallen to the ground. He glances up at the night sky, if one can call it a sky, and wonders what he should do next. Whatever petty crime, it all feels so arbitrary, meaningless, not that he expects meaning from such things. Frankenstein teasingly holds a foot out over the ledge and looks down. This is one of the tallest buildings in La Alma.

His lungs fill with the cold air. He leans forward. He lets go.

He falls.

 _Something fun,_ he ponders.

Wind rushes past his ears. The few passers by at this ungodly hour take notice, and a few scream, a few point.

His body slams into the ground, limp like a doll thrown carelessly from heaven, kicking up dust and debris. He lies still, his head ringing, blood in his mouth; his limbs are twisted in odd ways: a body broken. He breathes, cheek to the dirty floor. Silently, hazily, he stares into the distance even as people gather around him, a few bending down with worried looks, trying to ask him questions he doesn't care to hear or respond to. Frankenstein sighs and shifts, feeling joints pop and bones creak as the numerous fractures and wounds knit themselves.

He pushes himself up, dusts himself off, and walks away, his hands in his pockets


	13. Chapter 13

"You said you wanted to help." Frankenstein pushes the cart of food to Raizel's side by the window. Raizel still makes attempts to look out of it from time to time, even if one couldn't see anything much at their current speed. "Here." Frankenstein hands him a small piece of metal and plastic. "There're books in that. Basic ship maintenance and repair, engineering, and things I wrote specifically for Gilgamesh. You can read them with any computer." Frankenstein sets a couple of the smaller plates from the second tier onto the top tier of the cart. "There are also books on the various maths and sciences," because those are important, and everyone should know at least a little bit, though Frankenstein admits that physics is not his specialty.

It has taken more than a few Einsteins and more than a little funding—and maybe a couple wars too—for their current space travel to be possible, and Frankenstein, as tragic as it is, is not _very_ involved in that realm of research and development. He is more of a chemistry, biology, and soul type of scientist, but he knows enough of the universe bending physics to get by. After all, research done on nobles and their powers played a significant role in propelling further research for space travel. Gilgamesh is a fine testament to that.

"If you'd like to help, I'd rather you do so around the ship than by spending power unnecessarily. I can help with topics you don't understand when I'm not busy and show you Gilgamesh's mechanics as well, when you get to them." Frankenstein pours a cup of tea. "Is that satisfactory, Master?"

"Yes," Raizel says with a nod, a sign of enthusiasm, since he rarely does those two things simultaneously. "I am glad to be of use to you, Frankenstein."

Frankenstein half shrugs, half chuckled. "We'll see." The material isn't exactly easy. There is a short silence. He looks at the full cup. "Then, Master, I will see you later."

"Frankenstein." Raizel picks up the cup with both hands. He holds it to Frankenstein, looking at him, unwavering.

"Ah…" Frankenstein takes the cup. "Thank you, but it's too sweet for me." He places it back down on the cart. He nods; he leaves.

* * *

It is scorching, more than scorching, it is hell, as if his very soul can evaporate if he so much as opens his mouth, though Frankenstein should expect as much from a planet that is mostly desert. Even enhanced, he marvels at how people can still choose to live here. They must have had fantastic air conditioning.

But the heat cannot dissuade Frankenstein from his prize: a shiny, new military drop ship, with all the bells and whistles and cargo, a much larger challenge than Raskreia's ancient Ragnarok, but nothing he can't handle. If he has managed to obtain Gilgamesh, then this is rudimentary.

* * *

Raizel pauses from his reading. He is almost done with the index. A turn of his wrist and the book is gone (he figured that out himself!), and he looks up and out of the window. Red-pink sand stretches out in oceans around him, and in the distance, he can pick out a small town. He could sense an onsetting panic, not his own.

* * *

It is a single guard he doesn't noticed. She plays unconscious only to alert security. When he turns around after the first alarm blare, she is standing, staring holes into him, expressionless, and _well, fuck you too,_ he thinks. He suppose stealth is out of the window now.

Frankenstein hides behind the wall of a small archway, trying to collect his thoughts amidst the shouting, the flashing lights, and the blaring alarm.

 _Shit,_ is his collection of thoughts.

While mind control is an option for the few unshielded workers, it is far more difficult for the several thousand other ones. Normally, he would be ecstatic that humans have managed to mass produce anti mind control technology, but in this particular instance, it is a slight inconvenience.

Of course he can probably escape with brute force; a summoning of Dark Spear will be enough to carve a hole in the building, and he can leave, but that is quitting, and Frankenstein was no quitter. Escaping himself is not a problem; he is light, fast, and sturdy enough, but getting to and leaving with a clunky ship has become much harder.

A flash and a burst next to his head. The laser just misses him. He sprints away.

* * *

Raizel has the suspicion that it is best to go unnoticed in such a place, and so he does, not that he doesn't go unseen; no, there are more than a few people who have seen him when he stops to consider his location, but they simply do not mind, as if they were passing pebbles on a dirt ground: seen, but not noticed, camouflaged.

He looks around. There are too many hallways, too many rooms and warehouses and motions. He looks at a person; the person looks back. "Where are you going?" Raizel asks.

"To the A3 unit: the smaller ships."

Raizel nods and heads in that direction as well. It is only after he has disappeared that the guard realizes Raizel shouldn't have been there in the first place, and it ir only a moment later that he realizes he has forgotten what the intruder looks like.

* * *

As Frankenstein flees from his pursuers, he sees Raizel, simply standing and watching, hair swaying as he passes him, too fast for normal human eyes to pick up, but they have seen each other.

 _Master?_ Frankenstein hides behind and then under one of the ships, but not the one he is after. _What are you doing here?_

 _You were distressed_.

 _It's nothing. It's dangerous, please go back. You got here on your own, I assume you can make it to Gilgamesh?_

Raizel looks at the rows and rows of spacecrafts. _You wish to take one of these?_

A pause, _No. I wish to take one of the ones in the far vault._ He has already gotten it unlocked during his first pass but is interrupted before it can open. At this point, he is tempted to simply drive Dark Spear into the gate; it opens too slowly on its own.

 _I will assist you._

 _Master, you—_ But Raizel is determined.

Raizel looks up at the towering vault. _What must I do?_

Frankenstein considers as he squeezes out from under the ship and knocks out one of the guards, shaking out his hand afterwards; they are really armored these days. He sighs. Master is here already, he might as well. Frankenstein rummages around the guard's pockets for a key card, old fashioned but secure, and in a flash, slips it to Raizel before skidding to a stop somewhere on the opposite side of the compound.

A little power, a loud crack, and bright purple. He strikes down a wall. They will know where he is; they will come to him. _Use the card to open the vault, then pick your favorite ship. I'll be with you shortly._

Getting into the vault, after a few erroneous tries, is not terribly difficult, especially since Raizel has the sense to project disinterest to not only himself but to the surrounding area as well. It is much more difficult, however, to pick a ship after he gets in. Which will please Frankenstein best?

Raizel narrows his eyes, scrutinizing. A few books Frankenstein has given him at least allow Raizel to recognize newer models from older ones, but that makes the choice only slightly easier. Raizel looks carefully.

"Have you picked?"

Raizel turns around. He shakes his head, becoming aware of how long he has taken.

Frankenstein crosses his arms, eyes flickering to the vault entrance. "We have to leave." He walks to the ship nearest Raizel. "Let's just take this one." A beep from the key card in his hand, and Frankenstein slides open the heavy door. "Let's go," before they send new security.

The ship hums to life and lifts off the ground. "How much studying have you done, Master?"

"The first book of 'Ship Anatomy, Repair, and Modification,'" and _attempts_ at "some calculus and physics."

"Then can you find and disable the tracking?"

Raizel is silent for a moment. His lips part to respond, but he reconsiders, furrowing his brows. He quickly gets to work, or tries to. Real ships look a bit different from diagrams and even 3D models, but he is relieved when he finds and pries open the panel. He stares, trying to recall the arrows and labels in the book that would correspond to what he sees now and has to pull up the diagram again before deciding use a bit of power to snip a few cords, yank a few screws and pluck the module out of the panel. His heart thuds, hoping he has done right.

He looks to Frankenstein, who hold out his hand, his eyes still forward as he focuses on navigating and escaping the military base, dodging incoming fire rather than firing back. Raizel places the navigation piece in Frankenstein's palm and watches as he disintegrates it with his own black flame. "Thank you, Master."

Raizel smiles slightly to himself.

* * *

They look at the newly acquired vessel. It is now safe and sound in Gilgamesh even if a few panels and hinges are missing. Raizel counts a few more dings and scratches as well, and there is a gaping hole near the tail end of the ship.

Circle chirps at their feet.

"What we did was illegal, Master." Frankenstein offers him an amused grin. "You're a _criminal_ now."

Raizel's eyes widen a little. He blinks. He looks at Frankenstein then at the ship. He blushes.

"Congratulations," Frankenstein says.


	14. Chapter 14

Ignes tugs at the collar of the uniform. The black is inoffensive enough—that is what she usually wears anyway—but it is the single large stripe of radioactive waste-green across the shoulders that bothers her. At least the fabric is soft.

"Ignes Kravei to station seven," says the bored voice on the speakers.

Ignes swallows, consciously uncurling her fists. She takes a seat, her hands stiffly folded in front of her, her eyes burning, as if she can will for the glass before her to melt. "Father," she says. How long has it been since she last uttered that word out loud? Five, six centuries?

Roctis clears his throat, then awkwardly scratcher the back of his head as he glances to the floor then back at her. "Ah, Ignes," he says.

"What do you want?"

Disbelief crosses Roctis' face for a moment, but he straightens himself. "535 years is not…terrible." He takes a steadying breath. "We can make it work, Ignes. Once you're out, we can try again." Roctis' rather intimidating stature and deep voice almost don't suit his soft tone.

Ignes looks distantly to the side. "Try again? You had your chance, Father, and _you left_ _me_." She looks back at him, and quietly, she wishes for the man in front of her to boil. "I asked you to help me. You didn't."

Roctis leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter, his fingers interlaced, his lips pressed to them, as if in prayer. "I did, I did Ignes."

"How, exactly, did you help?"

"Cetus would not have done you well." Roctis speaks slowly. "I wanted to guide you down the right path."

Ignes smiles, baring her fangs. "Oh, and tell me, wise one, how well that went." Ignes stands up, slamming a hand down onto the counter. "You speak as if you know what's best when you hardly know anything at all." She lowers her head and speaks a bit softer. "I _waited_ for you, Father…"

Roctis looks up at her, tenderly, futilely. "Ignes…"

She looks into his eyes. "You, are dead to me." She turns around. "We're done here."

"Ignes!" Roctis stands up as well, but that does not stop her from leaving. He watches her be led and disappear down the hallway.

* * *

Seira sips her sweet milk tea then swirls the glass to hear the ice clink as she places it down on the table.

Rozaria has a taste of her water. She looks around at the delicate interior: pastel wallpaper and small decorations and ornaments and carved detailings, like warm, vintage New Orleans architecture before it became ashes with the rest of the world. "I didn't expect this place to be her style."

"She says the sundaes are well received." Apparently, all of the dairy in this chain is lab made, not that Seira can tell a difference. She looks up when the bell by the door rings to signal someone's grand entrance.

Mari walks in, her two tall, sleek hounds by her side, ears pointed, alert. She spots them, comes over, and pulls a chair from a nearby table to join them. The dogs sit on either side of her, tails gently swaying from side to side. "Seira, Rozaria," she greets, her voice characteristically flat and cold, but they know her better by now.

"How are you? And…" Seira holds out a hand to one of the dogs to sniff and then lick with a cute pink tongue. She blushes a little. "…how are your companions?"

Mari sighs, long and low. "Lily has been upset at me for not letting Gin accompany her when she goes out on her own." She glances down at Gin to her right and pats him, causing him to relax his ears. "He's still recovering. I don't want to risk further injuries." They may be Union modified dogs, but they still need to be taken care of. Mari looks up. "Have you gotten anything yet?"

"We were waiting for you," Rozaria says, her smile gentle.

* * *

"Wouldn't you agree? Look at her, isn't she a _killer_?" Rozaria has another spoonful of her sundae: arru berries, small pink fruits that resemble a cross between a peach and a strawberry in taste, and of course chocolate syrup on top. "Don't be afraid to show off a bit more, Seira."

Mari nods once in agreement.

Seira blushes but composes herself. "I do not need to rely on appearances to show off." She smiles. "They already know what I am capable of."

Mari raises her eyebrows, seemingly impressed. "No one dares cross 'Miss Seira,'" she says, letting Lily lick a bit of ice cream off her spoon.

Seira almost giggles at the statement, but it is partially true, or at least she hopes it is. She remembers how the homeowner—how Frankenstein—handled himself as both chairman and ruthless caretaker. He was—is—a presence, a force, a character. And perhaps some of him has rubbed off on her over the years. She had only been a student before, and now she has an office, a school, a responsibility and responsibilities.

"Oh yes, I've been meaning ask, Seira…" Rozaria quickly swallows another spoonful. "Do you know anything of the person from the coffin? Urokai seemed to know him, but I didn't get anything else from his reaction. He seemed important."

Seira looks into the distance as if her memories could be found on the horizon. "On Earth, Urokai and Frankenstein often spoke of looking for someone of a description fitting that noble; it could be him."

Mari nods. "I've only heard a little of their conversations in passing," as she had spent most of her time on spy missions for them.

Seira knits her eyebrows. "The true Noblesse," was what Gejutel had eventually told her. "Frankenstein's bonded, a true contract."

Rozaria's eyes widen. She has finished her sundae. "The Noblesse…The Lord abolished that position, yes?" before she had abolished her own position; there simply wasn't anything stopping her. The Noblesse, from what Rozaria learned, was the protector of the nobles and a check on the Lord's power, but they have done well enough and survived without him. He is obsolete, unnecessary, and so he is no more. "And to have a contract with someone that powerful…"

"I do not recall his name, but"—Seira looks down at her bowl of ice cream that she shares with Mari, considering—"I believe he and Urokai loved him."

Mari scoffs a little jokingly. "Love? I didn't know Frankenstein was capable of that." She can very well remember how vicious he can be: a monster, a devil. He tore people apart, ate them up, as if the more he ate—or ' _they'_ would perhaps be more accurate—the more ravenous they became. At times, his power seems endless, like a disaster.

Seira shakes her head softly, sagely. "No." She smiles slightly, endearingly. "He simply loves too much."


	15. Chapter 15

M-21 flicks through the pictures on the screen. A video; he presses play.

Tao smiles mischievously at the camera, holding his finger to his lips to shush the cameraman, Takeo. In his hands is a permanent marker. Slowly, he pushes the door to M-21's room. Takeo sighs.

Tao shuffles to M-21's bedside and ominously stands over him, marker uncapped and ready. He brings it to M-21's sleeping face, but before he can mark his skin, M-21 catches his wrist. Still, Tao persists, struggling to inch the marker closer to M-21's face. He grunts. "C'mon—just-just let me do it once!"

M-21 shifts, trying to sit up as Tao presses down on him. "That's never happening."

"How did you even know to wake up? I was so quiet!" Tao gives a final push before giving up and backing off, pouting.

"The smell of that marker burns the inside of my nose."

"What, like a dog?" Tao sneers.

M-21 throws a pillow at his face. "Shut up."

The video ends.

M-21 smiles, continuing to flick through the album, sinking deeper into his pillows. Photos of them with the school children, Tao celebrating his first paycheck, Tao crying about his lack of a paycheck, Takeo getting his hair caught in some congealed concoction Tao had brewed for some unknown purpose. Photos of Frankenstein and Seira and Regis and Urokai, all the ones he has come to know as family. It would be a lie to say he doesn't miss those days, when they were all under one roof. Frankenstein and Urokai keeping watch, keeping count, like very deadly mother hens, as the house got noisier and noisier, not that it sometimes didn't get noisy just from when Frankenstein and Urokai quarreled. M-21 chuckles at the memories, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

He docks his phone by his bedside, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. Sometimes, living by himself in this rather bare apartment gets lonely, but he can still see them, or most of them, rather. Tao and Takeo are long gone now. Takeo had chosen to live out his humanity, to age and grow old gracefully: his final act of being human. But Tao…M-21 still finds himself annoyed at all the time he could have had but did not.

Tao had said he was fine. That he would meet with them later and soon. There was just something important he had to retrieve from the Union computers first. He _had_ to, Tao insisted.

When they found him later, barely conscious, bleeding, broken. Tao smiled at M-21, teeth stained red. "I found it," he had rasped. "Your name."

The name, that was the name of someone who had died the moment the Union took him and gave birth to M-21. M-21 was M-21, and Tao gave him the opportunity to mourn for the death of who he used to be.

Was it worth it to have died for a dead man?

"You're such a fucking idiot," M-21 told him.

"I know." Perhaps Tao would have laughed had it not hurt so much.

When Frankenstein looked distantly at the readings on the monitor, not really paying attention to any of the data, because he knew, and they all had a sickening fear they all knew. "I…can't do any more."

M-21's knuckles were white from clenching his hands; he had wondered if he could have broken his teeth from how tight his jaw was. "That can't be true. You're…you're _Frankenstein_! You practically work miracles."

Frankenstein did not look at him, nor did he respond.

M-21 marched over to him, put a hand on his shoulder to turn the scientist, the _doctor_ , to face him. "We can't—we can't just…" M-21 scowled, then an ugly sorrow twisted his features, lips pulled back. "We can't…Tao can't just…"

"Hey M." It was barely audible. Tao didn't even have the strength to focus his eyes.

M-21 let go of Frankenstein. His attention solely on Tao.

"Guess what." He was hardly breathing. "You won't have to hear my dog jokes anymore." He smiled a little.

"No, no, I…your jokes were funny," M-21 managed softly.

"M, you're such a liar." Tao breathed out, but M-21 held his own breath. "It's been fun while it lasted. Yeah?"

M-21's eyes widened, shining with still unspilled tears. He would not cry, not now, not in front of Tao, not yet. He tried to smile, and it was hard, but for Tao, for Tao, he would. He did. "Yeah. It's…been fun."

"Good." Tao turned his head a little, still smiling. His eyes shifted to Takeo, standing on his other side. M-21 couldn't quite decipher it, but Takeo squeezed Tao's hand, and they looked at each other, and there was some confirmation, some understanding passed between them.

"Boss?"

Frankenstein paused. He reached forward, using his fingers to brush Tao's hair out of his eyes, tenderly running them through his bangs. It was the most gentle M-21 had ever seen him.

"Remember to send my next paycheck to heaven."

Frankenstein smiled down at Tao and even managed a soft, strained chuckle. "I'll set a reminder," he said.

"You're the best, Boss," Tao whispered. And then, for the last time, he laughed.

M-21 puts an arm over his eyes even if his bedroom is already dark. His lashes are damp, but he smiles. "Good night," he says to the room, to the sky, to the stars, to whatever soul is listening to his thoughts in his small apartment.

Yes, it has, indeed, been fun.


	16. Chapter 16

It is supposed to be a pleasant day at the intergalactic zoo (they want to pet the new miniature wyverns) but Urokai finds himself biting his thumb nail at the footage Zarga is showing him. "Why would he…How can he rope Sir Raizel into _that_?" Urokai jolts upright to look at Zarga in the eyes. "Do we have to arrest _both_ of them now?" Unthinkable. Arrest Sir Raizel? Preposterous.

"If he's a willing accomplice, it seems so," which, admittedly, Zarga finds quite funny. In what reality would they, two former traitors, be charged with arresting the so called Noblesse for petty crime? This one, it appears. Though at this point, arresting either of them is more like a running joke none of them cared to understand.

"Then surely he wasn't," Urokai says with a firm nod, seemingly convinced all by himself, a dragon or snake or something in between squawking in the background. "Frankenstein must have made him do it, that peacock bastard," he mumbles as he calls him from his wrist.

When Frankenstein finally picks up, "What do you think you're doing with Sir Raizel?" Urokai shouts, earning him an annoyed look from Zarga.

"Oh, _unspeakable_ things, I assure you," is Frankenstein's response.

Urokai opens his mouth, about to say something rude and vulgar, no doubt, but before he can do so, Frankenstein hangs up without another word. Then, Urokai does say something rude and vulgar.

"You can always just message him."

His struck expression suggests that Zarga has deeply offended him. "Do you think he even _looks_ at my messages?" Urokai crosses his arms. "How is he supposed to even know when I'm shouting?"

Zarga simply sighs and turned his attention back to the winged serpents.

* * *

Raizel tries activating the ship once more, only to have it splutter and give out on him again. For something as simple as travelling, there is a lot of complicated machinery. He will not be defeated.

A few weeks ago, after taking whatever cargo was inside, Frankenstein gave the little drop ship to him "for practice and play," encouraging him to take it apart bit by bit then try putting it back together again to get a feel for the construction of these ships, but now that Raizel has the parts strewn about him, he is finding both steps more difficult than anticipated. Still, he persists. It isn't as if he needs to stop to rest or eat or drink.

Putting ideas and theory into practice is difficult. However, to his own surprise, there are certain material he finds intuitive, as if he has unknowingly known them his entire life. Higher dimensions, atoms, electrons, gravity, the bend of space, and the relativity of time; it is as if he has merely been reminded of these things. He is reminded of his powers, energy dancing at his fingertips, his wings tearing through space, leaping across dimensional planes, as simple as that.

But the fixing of a ship is not as simple as using his powers, a problem he cannot solve with force. There are only screws and bolts and latches and metal and plastic and his hands, and he treads carefully. Though, Raizel admits that there are those moments in which he wishes it is as simple as a summoning of a blood field or mind control, but ships have neither blood nor minds.

Occasionally, he hears footsteps and wheels and he looks up to see Frankenstein with food and tea. Raizel does not expect him to stay very long each time, but that is okay, because he still has work to do, only stopping for a cup or two of tea and a bit of food, because it would be rude to not appreciate what Frankenstein has prepared for him. Most of the time, however, Raizel is kneeling or crouching or lying down or reaching, hands stained and oily. Other times, he is seated cross legged on the floor of his little workstation, looking at imperceptible texts and diagrams. He has quickly gotten over the dirt and the grime of such an endeavor; whatever needs to be done, needs to be done.

"Master." There is amusement in Frankenstein's voice. Raizel looks up from his reading. "Your face is dirty," with dark, gritty streaks

Ah, "It is." Raizel stands up.

Frankenstein sighs with a hint of a smile. He goes over to the nearby table and picks out a clean rag, then wets it with the spout attached to the wall. "Here."

Raizel feels the soft cloth and cool water on his face, Frankenstein's gentle touch on his forehead and cheeks and nose.

When they part, "There was no need." Raizel could easily clean himself without even the need for water.

"Perhaps I just wanted to, Master."

"Oh…" Gently surprised, Raizel looks down. "Thank you," he says softly.

Frankenstein nods.

* * *

Blood flows over his his spear, his fingers, his hands, his arms, warm and familiar, far too familiar. So much of it. Frankenstein is panting with the sisyphean effort of another and another and another battle. When he looks up, he sees what he expects to see, a face he knows far better than even his own, but it isn't _him_. Or at least, it isn't supposed to be.

"Frankenstein," a sad voice, sad eyes, unmistakably, undeniably…

"Master…?" But that can't be right. Everything feels distant.

Raizel blinks slowly, red tears streaking his face. He is smiling.

"You're not…real." This isn't how that battle went.

"You want me dead."

Frankenstein withdraws, as if Dark Spear burns him, and they do. "No, no, I don't. I'm just…" He can't say. Perhaps he doesn't want to admit it. Perhaps he doesn't know what to admit. "I'm tired, Master." He laughs shakily, desperately. "Can't I just—can't I just rest?"

"Frankenstein," he is called once more, and he wakes up.

He tosses the blanket off of himself, only slightly torn this time, and goes to the door. "Is there something you need, Master?" he says upon opening it.

Raizel looks up at him for a long, silent moment. He decides to nod. He hold up his phone, his book displayed on it.

"Oh." Frankenstein steps back. "Come in, then. Forgive me for my dress," but he doesn't feel like changing at the moment. "You can take one of the seats in the middle of the room." Frankenstein takes an adjacent seat after getting a glass of water.

Raizel shows him a projected problem from one of his math books.

"A differential equation." Frankenstein nods. "This one's quite simple." He leans in.

They find the three solutions to the problem and then do a few more for good measure. A while passes like this, just doing problems. "Ideally, you would have peers and teachers to help you learn this," Frankenstein says.

Raizel looks at him, curious.

"A school, Master." Frankenstein's eyes are distant. "I had built one for you, on Earth." A pause. "I had done a lot of things, for you, everything." He leans back into the cushion of his chair. "A shame you weren't even there to see it." He looks at Raizel. "It's…all gone now. There's nothing left." Why had he even bothered? It is all useless. His eyes fall.

Raizel is silent for a beat or two, considering what to say, if anything at all. He breathes in. "You have already shown me more than I can ask for." His hands are folded in his lap now, his voice gentle, as it always has been between them. "To you, Frankenstein, I am always grateful," he knows, and he makes Frankenstein know.

Frankenstein slowly turns to his master once again. And for the first time in a while, he looks at him and really looks. "What for?" he asks with a half smile, a self loathing one.

Raizel's eyes are warm. "Everything."

They look at each other for a bit longer. Frankenstein is the first to look away.

* * *

It has taken quite a bit of effort from him, and Raizel is still unsure of his performance. He watches attentively as Frankenstein inspects the ship.

"This is quite acceptable." Frankenstein's fingers glide over the polished yellow exterior. Raizel has taken as much of it apart as he can before fitting the pieces back together again, and while it isn't as thorough as Frankenstein's standards, it is a start. Frankenstein smiles at him. "Let's try something fun now." A howling black fire ignites his arm. He steps back, takes aim. The ship creaks, groans, cracks and buckles under the blast, and he dismisses Dark Spear with a casual flick of his arm. He turns to Raizel. "Fix it."

Raizel blinks a couple times at the new wreckage, his work so quickly and easily undone. He takes a breath. He nods.

"I can get any new parts you need." Frankenstein smiles playfully. "Good luck, Master." Raizel likely needs it.


	17. Chapter 17

He is reviewing his record of illicit financial transactions when the ship rocks and shudders. Frankenstein answers the incoming transmission, standing up.

An old insectoid, crustacean-like face appears on the hologram, four beady eyes staring, unblinking.

"Commander," Frankenstein greets. "I had been missing your hellish face."

"As you should be," she says, her voice warbly; her anatomy is not very accommodating to human speech. "You know how this goes, surrender yourself and Gilgamesh over and perhaps you might live, et cetera, et cetera."

"Catch me if you can, _et cetera, et cetera_ "—Frankenstein makes a circling motion with his hand, as if presenting something, slightly bowing*.*

The commander chuckles. She turns to her lackeys. "Crush him," she orders.

The transmission ends.

The roar of firepower echos throughout the ship. He has no time at all to ignite Dark Spear and Gilgamesh, darkness crawling up his body and bleeding into the floor and walls. Unlike Urokai and the rest of them, the Khrokian commander is an actual threat. The few encounters he has had with her in the past, he barely escaped, and that is when she only has a couple warships with her. From the map to his side, she seems to have several now.

As he counterattacks, feeling his heart start to race with a well worn adrenaline, Frankenstein wonders if he should take his chances with an all out deathmatch or try to warp away. Warping takes time and effort, and as the ship warms up to do so, he will not be able use his full firepower. That leaves him far more vulnerable than he'd like.

Frankenstein's grin is tense.

* * *

"Do you think he'll try warping again?" one of the pilots asks.

"Likely." The Commander nods. "He can't outrun, outnumber, or outgun us." She turns to the pilot. "Lock him."

"That's still experimental, Commander."

"Then it's time to run an experiment."

* * *

They end up zooming to a nearby asteroid belt, Frankenstein hoping it provides him with at least a little advantage, seeing as Gilgamesh is smaller than the Commander's ships. From the status screens, turrets B1 through B4 under Gilgamesh's right wing are down as well as one of the cannons up front. He can only channel 87 percent of Dark Spear's power out of the ship, and that number is slowly decreasing.

A blast to his right slams the ship into a large, rocketing asteroid. Gilgamesh rumbles and groans.

Frankenstein huffs. Just another minute.

There is some low sound, some light, like a forcefield that temporarily encases the entirety of Gilgamesh formed by large pink beams coming from three of the commander's warships, and just as quickly, it disappears.

Frankenstein checks the status of his ship to see no apparent change. That worries him. No matter, he was only moments away from escape, and he could figure that out afterwards.

Dark Spear is burning to his very bone marrow, but he calls upon them, sweeping a diameter around him at the other mechanical behemoths somewhat successfully.

It is time. Gilgamesh hums, the song of tearing open space, and…it doesn't.

"What?" Frankenstein looks over all the screens and projections. Is the ship not ready? He tries again, and still, there is nothing.

Sparks leap about Gilgamesh's walls as it is hit with another beam, causing Frankenstein to lose his footing for a second. He looks down at the controls. "Why aren't you…" He shakes his head, refocusing his attention on fighting. He doesn't have much of a choice now.

"Frankenstein." Raizel's voice is far too soft and gentle for the occasion.

He can't spare him a glance. "I assume you want to help. If you can, please check on the warp drive."

Raizel nods, not that Frankenstein can see, and darts away.

He only makes a couple wrong turns when getting there. When the chamber opens, Raizel is struck by power, howling, swirling, bright pink. It shakes the walls as the metal doors close behind him. A blinding bright orb sits atop each of the two sparkling spires, towering above him as if to proclaim that they are the gates to heaven. The drive is an entire gymnasium of light and sparks and parts, all humming the same tune. And all strangely familiar.

For a breath or two, Raizel feels a calling, as if he belongs here. He places a hand on the railing, looking over the machinery. He narrows his eyes. Surely, he has never seen such things before, but why does it feel as it does to him? As if the machine is an old soul he knows. He leaps over the railing, landing nearer one of the spires. Perhaps against his better judgment, he reaches out. Almost tenderly, he places a hand on the smooth, white metal, seeing the pink light wrap around his fingers.

His breath stops, his eyes wide.

It is an old, _old_ soul.

 _So even now, you recognize me._

" _Brother?_ "


	18. Chapter 18

His brother's voice is lulling and deep like the sound of drowned caves.

Raizel steps back. He looks around, finding his breath again, checking to see if perhaps there is another person or another something in this chamber with him, reaching out with his senses to feel the soul permeating the metal and the light and the particles in between.

 _Oh, Raizel, what is there to fear?_

"Many things," he whispers after a breath, wary.

 _Surely, I am not one of them. Not anymore._

"I do not know." He thinks for a moment. "Why are you here, Brother?"

 _Why are you?_

The surroundings shake. There are loud thuds and crashes somewhere in the distance. Raizel looks around again. The walls are turning black, choking on pulsing purple veins. Dark Spear is swallowing the ship, their majestic power making his breath rattle.

His brother is corroded, soul not all there, frayed at the ends with Dark Spear's hunger. But Raizel does not have time to dwell on such matters. He looks up at the spheres, at the sparkling energy. "Brother, will you help us?" he tries, as ridiculous as it makes him feel.

A long silence. _Pitiful._

Raizel, for a second, is saddened, but he should expect as much. He presses his lips together, determined. He quickly scans the chamber for any damage but can find none. Is it not a problem with the ship itself then? He does not know enough.

Raizel places his hand on the spire again, almost instinctively, his powers gathering around him, bleeding red, bleeding pink, responding not to him, but to _them_. And Raizel realizes this feels right, as wrong as it is. It feels like nothing at all, as if he has lost his own body, and in an instance of clarity, Raizel know Gilgamesh, knows it intimately, as if it were himself, as if his own wings were as heavy as the ship's.

 _Master?_

But Raizel can hardly hear him. He is—they are together, and for a moment, a breath not taken, they are no longer brothers, for they are the same. Two parts of a whole.

He is nothing and no one.

* * *

Dark Spear is eating him, chewing him up inside and out, burning like hell frozen over, but aren't they just that: purgatory realized? Their wailing drowns out his thinking, if he is even able to think at that point.

The screens and lights and diagrams all tell him what he already knows: this and that and this were wrong and broken. Other than a few glowing screens and holograms, the entire room he is stationed in burns black and purple, the stomach of a dark grieving beast.

Gilgamesh is tossed and thrown and pummelled, and Raizel has suddenly stopped responding. So much for wanting to help then, he supposes.

Frankenstein has managed to take out a couple of the Commander's ships. Just a couple. There are a few more, and while Dark Spear is always up for destruction and a meal, no matter how large, he himself is beginning to wear thin. The Commander is merciless, and Frankenstein wonders if the race even understands the concept of mercy, not that he is one to ask for it.

He steadies himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground, now pitch black, taking a deep breath to prepare for a tedious fight. Barrage, after barrage, after barrage.

Something split in front of the ship. Space pulls itself apart. Gilgamesh is humming. "Huh?" And then they are gone, the rip in space closing almost instantaneously behind them.

He forces Dark Spear down once again, and as they retreat from the ship's walls and his skin, he sinks to his seat, sighing. Frankenstein brushes his hair back with his still tingling and raw fingers, feeling it damp with sweat. Quickly though, he gets to his feet again.

The chamber of the warp drive shuts behind him with a loud clap of metal. "Master?" He looks around then spots Raizel standing at the base of a spire, motionless, unbreathing, unblinking, bright, the surrounding light swimming around him. He is still in contact with the structure, silent, as if a mere ghost: unreal, unphysical.

Frankenstein raises a hesitant hand, only pausing for a brief moment before placing it on Raizel's shoulder and pulling him back.

Raizel's hand drops, then so does the rest of him. He blinks, finding himself on his knees. He looks down at himself, at his limbs, vaguely wondering if they are real. They are, and he stands up.

Frankenstein's face is creased with worry. "What happened?"

Raizel looks at him blankly, then realizes that question has been directed at him. "He spoke to me."

"Oh." _Oh_

* * *

They land on a nearby planet, Gilgamesh stuttering through the atmosphere. Repairs would take some time.

"Souls like that take a long time to decay, so I was still able to separate most of him from Dark Spear. Remarkably, he took to the ship like it was home to him." Frankenstein analyzes the ship status reports, counting what needed to be repaired as soon as possible and what could wait. "Giving the ship a soul makes it more…appetizing to Dark Spear, and it warps farther and faster than other ships I know."

Raizel looks at him. "He was my responsibility," he says softly, solemnly.

"It's too late for that now. We did what needed to be done, Master, with or without you."

He turns to and scrutinized the holo-map. This place is unfamiliar to him and so not the coordinates he planned to warp to. He faces Raizel and gives him a measuring gaze.

"I suppose it's time for a little exploring."

Raizel looks at him with a question.

"You can join, if you'd like."

His face brightens.

Circle trots after them as they leave the ship.


	19. Chapter 19

"A pity." The Commander looks to the stars, not that she can see very much; the species' eyesight is poor, and they compensate for it with the tiny sensitive hairs on their blunt, U-shaped horns that extend their faces. She crosses her arms, tapping her long, stick-like fingers against her exoskeleton. "We'll see him again; he never seems to stay away for very long." Her four legs carry her swiftly across the room, the hooks on her feet tapping on the floor. "We still have the investigation. Take us to 998-X," she tells her pilots, and then she leaves, the orange, mosaic skin of the archway pulling back from the center to let her through.

* * *

Raizel looks up at the pink tinted sky and slow, rolling clouds, then at the red grass swaying under his feet. Strange, but no longer a surprise.

They are in a small city and a city with no souls at that. There are living things, certainly—Frankenstein is even asking some of them about the area—but not a single sentient organism other than themselves possess a soul Raizel can sense. To Raizel, they are opaque. He looks at the collection of aliens conversing around Frankenstein and only sees what they present and no deeper, motives and states of minds and beings inaccessible to him. At the moment, as in many others, he is useless.

The droopy, slug-like one motions at Raizel. He watches as Frankenstein bares a sharp smile. Perhaps he is whispering a threat to the organism as well. That would be very much like him, or at least how Raizel remembers him.

Frankenstein waves a goodbye at the colorful gang as he heads back towards Raizel. "The market doesn't become very active until sun down," though even now there are already those setting up their stalls and decorative lights, laying out their wares. There is nothing terribly interesting that Frankenstein can see right now, but perhaps he can find some spare parts or weapons once it gets dark enough for the residents. "In the meantime, they say it might interest us to take a look at this 'mystical tower' a little ways away. It supposedly just appeared out of the fog of the trees a few weeks ago, around the time you found me."

Frankenstein chuckles. "'Don't miss it,' they said. 'You never know when the authorities will arrive and then charge you for every peek you take at the thing.'" Dearest capitalism reaches even here, it seems, even if Frankenstein has yet to spot one of those eerily personalized digital advertisement screens. He can't quite recall when it was people stopped caring about privacy. Personal information is simply another commodity. "Shall we go there, then?"

Raizel nods.

The tower, or spire, rather, is just west of the market plaza in an isolated area of the town walled off by trees. It appears before them, and Frankenstein is reminded of the first time he stumbled, bloody and bruised, upon that manor back in Lukedonia, somehow invisible or perhaps just unnoticed until one walked forward just enough to see the structure looming over.

The spire twirls towards the sky like a spear, as if trying to pierce the very heavens, and it gleams bright and white, backlit by the cherry of the setting sun.

Raizel is captured. He stares, something inside him fluttering, like fascination. "It is pretty," he says hesitantly, and he is relieved when Frankenstein nods. He smiles a little, glad that he can say something of worth, even if minor.

The inside is light flooded, as if the home of angels. While the red gold of the outside skies pours in through the arches at the base, the smooth, swirling walls glimmer with a clean white as one looks up. A spiralling walkway leads up to the top, where the tower shines the most, as if someone has stolen the silver moon from the sky only to place it there.

It is only natural for them to make the silent trip up, higher, and higher still. Raizel counts his steps and brushes his fingers against the wall, wondering if maybe something is waiting for them at the top. He is buoyant with an unusual apprehension, as if he is waiting for something, expecting something he doesn't know. Perhaps at the top, they will find it, whatever it is.

He steps—three, two, one—the walkway simply ends. There is nothing but light and air. The spire coils into itself, into a needle. Raizel peers over the edge. He wonders what it is like to fall. All the way down there? He wonders if he is supposed to. Perhaps it will be something fun.

His lungs fill with the cold air. He leans forward. He lets go.

He falls.

"Master?"

Wind in his ears, his mind, his soul humming. The lines of the spire and spiral blurring past him, light flickering, dancing. He blinks, he breathes, he stops, unrealizing of what he is doing, because what does it matter? It is like dreaming, soft whispers and senses like memories of a past life. He falls liks it is angel business. He has wings like one, does he not?

He closes his eyes, and when he does, he is suddenly aware of precisely where he is, even if he continues to move as he plummets, like points on a grid, and he knows, for the first time in a long time, which part of space he takes up, as if he were made for just that.

Frankenstein realizes that Raizel is doing nothing to slow his descent or break his fall. And even though he knows a fall like this will hardly phase either of them, something in him reels at the thought of seeing Raizel crash into the ground. Something in him fears it. So he pushes himself further ahead to land just before his master does. He reaches out and catches him.

Circle peeps and hops once before placing a paw on Frankenstein's foot.

In his arms, Raizel is staring at him.

"You've been acting strangely," Frankenstein says.

"So have you." Raizel says.


	20. Chapter 20

Frankenstein narrows his eyes in observation at Raizel, one anomaly after another.

The lights are strung, people are examining the wares, the air is cool and smells of herbs. Signs paint the street with their soft neon glow. A particular stall catches his eye. White, clean, sterile, under a glass display are small vials, and Frankenstein recognizes those vials.

"Purity?" Frankenstein askes as he approaches the scaly humanoid.

"99.98 percent," they say with a triumphant nod.

"I'll take twelve."

They startle at this, skin literally raising for a fraction of a second. "Are you certain? Three vials can keep you… _content_ for a whole orbit. I wouldn't want Sir to—"

"Thank you for your concern, but I know what I'm doing."

As Frankenstein is handed a shiny, cute orange box with each vial in its own compartment, Raizel approaches him, looking at the container. "A little indulgence, Master," Frankenstein says, his smile sharp.

* * *

Raizel huffs at the dropship, letting his repair laser fall to the floor with an unenthusiastic clang. Frankenstein is busy making more important ship repairs Raizel is not yet ready for, leaving him alone with this scrap metal. Scrap metal that was once not scrap metal.

"Thank you _very much_ , _Frankenstein_ ," he lets slip from his mouth in a moment of exasperation, eyes pinched. His tone is not courteous. Raizel pauses at himself, and in this instance, he is glad Frankenstein is busy elsewhere. He looks around, confirming that it is only Circle who hears him, the little robot humming with short vibration when they make eye contact.

Raizel picks up the laser tool again after bending down to give a couple pats to Circle. He gets back to work. Sparks scatter in front of his face as he fuses internal components together, drawing electrical labyrinths.

Had it been necessary for Frankenstein to make such a show of destroying something Raizel had just worked on? Unlikely, at least for Raizel.

Back then, Raizel had not been terribly amused by the old Lord's schemes, but 'peacock' he had dubbed Frankenstein, and Raizel finds himself privately agreeing. He hopes Frankenstein doesn't notice, or at least that is what he tells himself. Perhaps he wouldn't mind too much if Frankenstein does notice. He has always been one for the grandiose.

Raizel sighs.

* * *

"I hope you like flowers."

After cleaning his hands of various repair muck, he carefully flips the lid of the small white box Frankenstein has handed him: in the center, a glimmering red rose and attached to it with a delicate link, two red gems, one above the other. "I can feel Dark Spear," Raizel says. It is potent, concentrated, crushed down into such a small form; it whispers at his fingertips as he touches the carefully crafted metal.

"You lost your seal on Europa. I know you had crosses, but this"—Frankenstein plucks the rose from its container and holds it up to Raizel's ear, the two dangling gems glittering against Raizel's skin—"I believe better suits you."

"I was not aware you made this." Raizel reaches up with a hand, gently taking the earring from him, their fingers briefly brushing.

Frankenstein pulls back, his expression suddenly distant. "As you were not aware of many things, Master." He looks away and shrugs, lightening his tone, as if his previous comment means nothing. "A planet is large; I was simply too far away."

Raizel looks at him, watches him, his gaze drifting down to Frankenstein's hands. "Does it hurt?"

"Does it matter?" Frankenstein looks back at Raizel, tilting his head with a sort of rhetoric finality. "It's done."

"It matters." Raizel puts on the earring, feeling his powers settle and Dark Spear momentarily grace his skin. " _It matters_ , Frankenstein."

* * *

The pink lights still leap and drift, hypnotic, and Raizel looks up at the glowing spheres. Spires and spheres again. He leaps over the railing, reaches out, and touches the structure.

 _Brother?_

He isn't there this time.

Raizel withdraws. He lets out a breath. He can't quite tell if he is disappointed or relieved. Perhaps even now, he still dreads him, fears him, just a little.

" _Do you love me, Raizel?"_

" _I do."_

" _I love you too," and then his brother had laughed to the heavens._

That was their last exchange, skies and bodies bleeding, blood and blood, like rivers and roses, breath stolen, and when Raizel fell asleep that crimson night in his coffin, having expended so much of himself again for his brother so soon after restraining Muzaka, it accompanied him in his slumber. He had not known what would become of his brother after their battle, when they both crashed like meteorites from the sky. He had not known what would become of himself—he still doesn't. He wants to ask, _Where did you go? Did you sleep well? Did you dream? Why, why are you here?_ History and stories Raizel has slept right through.

"What are you doing here, Master?" Frankenstein is looking down at him from the railing.

Raizel looks up. "…I don't know."

* * *

Sunlight kisses the sheer white curtains. M-21 stares at the ceiling, wondering if if he should call in sick today but then scoffs at himself. A werewolf, getting sick? It isn't likely. He rolls over, looking at the seconds tick by on the digital clock displayed on the dresser mirror. It is far too quiet, and he doubts anything new is going to happen at work today, or tomorrow, or the next day.

It was busy at first, when they still had a sizeable part of the Union left to hunt down in the far reaches of space, but a hundred or so years later, most of the organization is eliminated. Maybe it is about time he retired anyway. What is the saying? 'Getting too old for this shit,' right.

M-21 sits up from his pillows, brushing his hair back with a hand as he reaches for his phone. _Frankenstein, I'm moving back in with you,_ is the message sent. There is a connection delay.

 _All of a sudden?_

 _Yeah._

 _And your job?_

He gives it a whole thirty seconds of careful thought. _I'm quitting._

 _You're expecting to just freeload?_

 _Yup._

M-21 swings his legs off the side of the bed. _Pick me up whenever?_

 _I'll let you know when I'm there._

He looks around his room. He should get packing then.

* * *

I probably should have said this earlier, but if you're not aware of my tumblr (qdeanna), I've been posting art and things related the the Space AU there under the "Noblesse Space AU" tag, little comics/storyboards and ideation kind of stuff. Also, other awesome people have made tasty space AU content as well (looking at you, pwmo and Seda/rinsuokah, you guys are amazing and make my day). So yeah, take a look if you want some visual content to go along with these words I'm posting here.


	21. Chapter 21

"Do you actually believe he'd let anything happen?"

"I don't think he _wants_ to."

"And Frankenstein always gets what he wants. There's no reason to get so worked up." Zarga aims the ship's guns at the rogue in front of them. A series of quick beeps confirm that they have locked onto their target. He fires.

Urokai pulls hard on the controls, slicing loops through the atmosphere encasing the mostly tropical planet. "They just—they worry me." After a moment of only the sounds of breathing, switches, and the internal mechanisms of their fighter, Urokai speaks softly, seriously. "You weren't there, Zarga. When we fought Sir Raizel's brother, Frankenstein was different."

Zarga looks at him curiously.

"He was silent. You've seen him fight! He's either running his mouth or laughing or _something_ , but this time, he was just _nothing_." Urokai grunts, almost trying to will their ship to go faster. They are _not_ going to lose the cartel goons. "Like he had lost himself." He pauses. "I _know_ we know them, but Frankenstein can be unpredictable."

Zarga looks at him. He fires again. He smiles as if he were any wiser than he is. "They'll be okay."

"How do you know?"

Zarga shrugs. "I don't."

Urokai sighs. "We run around and we chase them, and nobody ever gets caught and nothing ever fucking matters." A collision, their left wing hit with a beam, but Urokai remains steady. "But to _them,_ everything matters, or is supposed to."

Zarga checks the ship status. They're fine. "I personally find all of this kind of amusing. Isn't that enough to matter?"

"We used to have goals and crap to do. Hunt the Union, protect the school, save the kids, and...look for Sir Raizel—and whatever. We used to have direction."

"We used to have a lot of things." It is a matter of fact. They land a few more hits on the criminals. "But I suppose keeping busy does keep you from thinking too much."

"And Frankenstein was always freaking busy. He doesn't have that anymore." Urokai huffs, his brows furrowing, concentrating on weaving through the trees but still breaking branches. "...They're always too quiet. I don't want to leave them alone for too long. They've had enough of that."

"Is that why you've made it your number one goal to be a loud pain the ass?"

The corner of Urokai's lips turns up. "I hate you."

"Thanks." Zarga smiles back.

* * *

The legs of the Commander's ship unfold and dig into the earth, cracking and splitting a few trees on the descent. The hooks of their feet press into the soft soil as the crew approach the spire.

The Commander looks up, eyes tracing over how the structure wraps around itself. "Updates?" she asks her part human scientist.

"Our readings show that it has been recently activated. We do not know what could have caused it as the structure is incompatible with our contemporary space faring technology, but such architecture suggests a smaller ship."

"Not the doing of one of the locals then?"

The scientist nods. "That is unlikely."

"A launch spire, yes?"

"Unlike any we've seen before."

"Peculiarly archaic." Such designated launch sites have long become obsolete. "And yet we haven't quite figured out how it works or how it got here."

"Indeed, a conundrum, Commander! One might suspect that this is merely something that was used by a people who may have occupied this planet before our colonization, but the unfamiliarity of the natives with the particulars of this structure and the structure's pristineness suggest otherwise. There are no records of a launch spire of this type of construction!" The scientist seems to not draw a single breath in their excitement. "But once we have the authorization to either close off the area or take the artefact with us, we can look into it more thoroughly." They look up, leaning back in an attempt to see the top of the spire. "Our data tells us that the spire's range is impressively far. What type of ship could have used such a thing?"

The Commander nods. "And I wonder where this curious little ship could be."

* * *

Raizel stares down at the tea Frankenstein has brought for him. He holds the warm cup in his hands with its emerald veins and embellishments and feels dirty for it. If he were to shed his skin, he would still be filthy. He does not know what comes over him, and it feels sudden, but no matter how sudden it feels, it is still far, far too late. Wasted time is wasted, and regret does not bring a second back. Perhaps back on Earth, he could have said that regret is an extravagant emotion to him, but here, it feels as if that is all he has, for he has lost everything else.

He quickly places the teacup back down, not having taken a sip and turns back to the ship. He is almost done and has even managed to upgrade the rather flimsy guns that these models come with. He needs to work, and he needs to work quickly.

How much time had he wasted? Eons and eons. He grips his tool a bit tighter. The feeling weighs down on him like an atmosphere, and as he breathes, he breathes it in. It makes his chest heavy. His hands move a bit faster. He has only himself to blame. A window, that is all he knew, and that is now all he will ever know of Earth. A piece of damaged hull slams to the floor.

Raizel works, and he works tirelessly though not flawlessly, as he would like. He finds that he prefers the quiet sounds of the repairs to the deep silence that would accompany him otherwise.

Raizel thinks back to the first day on this ship, looking out over the ruins that were Earth. Perhaps he had not known what to feel, perhaps he was numb, or maybe he thought he was dreaming. He now realizes—lets himself realize—he had missed far more than just the 'fireworks.' His jaw is tight. His eyes are wide, trained on the repairs, as if he can somehow mend his past as well as the ship. Not a second to waste.

For all his time, he knows nothing of Earth. He breathes in, and it is bitter; he works, and it is panic.

If nobles have anything, it is time. Time is not a scarcity, and so Raizel stood still and watched and watched; it seemed endless, arbitrary, and he wasted.

Raizel flinches. He has burned himself, the laser searing his fingertips. He watches the skin rapidly regenerate, then watches for a second more. His vision blurs, and he blinks it away, then he blinks it away again. He wipes at his eyes with his free hand, getting plaster dust on his face.

But still, tears make mosaics of his vision, an inconvenience when working. He blinks and blinks, and they refuse go away. His cheeks are wet now. He sits back on his heels, his fingers tightly curled, futilely wiping at his eyes.

Circle pats his leg.

He really should get back to work.

* * *

09/02/2018 - Oh My Stars! v. 0.2.0 release notes

Changed from past tense to present tense (Chapters 1 - current)

Removed pointless omniscient intro to Chapter 4

Removed pointless omniscient intro to Chapter 7

Fixed bug in which Gilgamesh would sink through the ground of certain planets

Fixed bug in which asteroids or meteors of mass less than 10 kg would cease to exist upon contact with Urokai and Zarga's spacecraft

General optimization (mostly trimming unnecessary words/passages, cleaning up, rewording)


	22. Chapter 22

The air was cold. He found Frankenstein on the balcony, leaning forward on the railing, the household's apparent favorite brooding spot on clear, starlit nights. The rest were in the their beds by now. M-21 leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Hey."

Frankenstein didn't respond.

"I know it's not really any of my business, and I don't even really know what he means to you, but...how long are you going to keep going at this?" M-21 couldn't even imagine being alive for over 800 years, much less searching and waiting for someone for that long. "How do you know he's even alive?"

"He's alive."

M-21 pursed his lips. "Doesn't it get tiring?"

"Are you suggesting I give up?"

The sound of vehicles driving by on a distant street, the stars twinkled. "Maybe you should."

Frankenstein finally turned around to look at him, gaze imperceptible,

"You do everything for us. You'd die for us. You live for us, can't you just... _live for yourself,_ for once?" He casted his eyes to the floor. "You call him 'Master'—you, Frankenstein, calling someone _that_ —and it's like you're a different person, like you have nothing else to live for." His voice got softer. "Maybe it's time to put him to rest already."

Frankenstein somehow smiled, sadly, and for a moment, M-21 almost saw how old he really was. Frankenstein turned back to the sky, gazing up, breathing out. "Sometimes, I'm terrified that I've wasted all this time," he said. A heartless laugh fell from him. "But, not yet, M-21. My master has always taken his time."

"You can't wait forever."

"We'll see."

* * *

Gilgamesh is no less confusing than he remembers, his footsteps sometimes echoing as he checks any unlocked rooms he comes across. The tall metal doors slide open for him and he is immediately pinned with red eyes.

"Oh, hi," M-21says.

The noble looks surprised and then slightly embarrassed before nodding a greeting.

M-21 approaches, his hands in his pockets. "So, Frankenstein is letting you stay here?"

A nod.

He looks at the small ship, seemingly in the last stages of repair, polished to a near glassy finish, his reflection bending with its contours.

"You got a name? It's alright if you don't"

"Cadis Etrama di Raizel."

M-21 looks up at him. "Oh." He gazes at Raizel's face, eyes flickering down over him, measuring. "So you're _him_. Awfully bold of you to come back now."

Raizel stares, seemingly confused, a nervous energy about him.

"I'm M-21." He holds out a hand, the prosthetic one. After a beat, he raises his eyebrows at the still unresponsive noble.

Raizel stares at the hand before stiffly placing his own in it.

M-21 is the one who does the shaking. He manages a half chuckle before withdrawing. "You're lucky you're good looking enough to distract people from your silent rock persona."

Something resembling annoyance flitters across Raizel's expression. "I am not...a rock."

M-21 blows air out his nose. "I'll believe it when I see it."

* * *

Raizel notices M-21 as he passes his door during his search for Frankenstein to inform him of the completed ship repairs.

"Yo," M-21 calls.

Raizel looks, but before he can leave, "Actually, why don't you come in?" M-21 says, and Raizel does so.

M-21 is sitting on his silver shaggy rug, a controller in his hands which he holds out to Raizel. "How about a game?"

"I do not know how to play."

"Don't worry. I won't go easy on you."

Raizel stares before taking the controller and sitting besides M-21 on the rug, facing the projection.

M-21 points to buttons on his own controller. "Hold this to accelerate," he says and then shows him the rest of the controls. "There. Get ready to lose."

"You are confident in your abilities," Raizel says timidly, but he cannot deny his small, haughty smile.

"You should see the guys I play with at work."

Their spaceships zoom off.

"I heard you've been sleeping for a while. Just woke up. That's real dickish, you know." M-21 launches his missile at Raizel's ship. The digital engines roar, they pass through waterfalls. "You don't seem like an ass though."

Raizel accidentally falls off the map. He is spit out of a black hole.

M-21 leans forward, gaze on his own ship intense. "Frankenstein was...He could have used you around; _we_ could have used you around." M-21 clicks his tongue. "Why'd you disappear?"

Raizel turns his controller hard. "It was my duty to stop my brother. My sleep was unforseen."

"Damn. You really aren't an ass then." M-21 chuckles, airy. "Still a loser though."

Raizel is in eleventh place out of twelve.

"Wanna go again?"

He nods, determined.

* * *

"We were training, and no surprise, he completely killed us, and I swear he always steps on one of us afterwards. I never got to punch him in the face. Takeo did eventually get him with the side of his gun once though."

"You speak of these memories fondly," Raizel says, smiling quietly down at himself.

"Yeah." M-21 leans back against the foot of his bed as he watches Raizel run around in circles in a game he can't navigate. "It was fun." He smirks.

"Frankenstein was worse, in his younger days."

"Oh?"

"He often troubled the clan leaders. They would come to me to complain." Raizel smiles a bit more. "He had challenged all of the clan leaders at once."

M-21 raises his eyebrows. He snorts. "I can see that. Urokai too?"

"He was there." In game, Raizel is shot to death once again. "They were...often in conflict. To the point of injury; Urokai lost his eye to Frankenstein."

M-21 straightens. " _Really_? I had assumed it was some Union accident." He leans back again. "Wow, who would have guessed? Back home, Urokai was always the one checking Frankenstein over for injuries when he refused to rest, the one nagging him to go to bed. They even shared a bedroom." And M-21 had heard their bedroom activities a couple more times than he wants to remember. When he turns to look at Raizel, Raizel is staring, silent and surprised.

"I had not...realized." Raizel turns back to the game. "It is good to see them get along better now," and it suddenly makes sense to Raizel, their little games.

Raizel plays for a little longer in silence, making some progress on the mission.

After a pause to think, "Hey," M-21 offers. He gives Raizel a soft, serious look. "Whatever happened back then, it wasn't your fault." He nudges Raizel's arm, causing him to miss his shot. "You don't have to look so sad all the time."

Raizel's eyes widen at M-21. He smiles tenderly, sympathetically but still sadly. "I was not there for anyone," he almost whispers. A slow realization: "Not even myself."

"Even if that were true, you can't fix it by being sad and alone." M-21 grabs the controller and turns Raizel to the right direction. He hands it back. "I know Frankenstein can be a jerk sometimes, all the time, but you should work whatever is between you two. Talk to him."

"He would not want me."

"He lets you stay here. I think he wants _something_. He's just being a wuss."

At this, Raizel almost chuckles.


	23. Chapter 23

"So you're our head engineer for this site." The Commander looks over him, assessing. "And a noble at that."

"Yes, is there a problem?" Roctis stands tall.

"Just unexpected. Nobles aren't known for being the most technologically adept in the galaxy, but I'm sure the Lexda Corporation has reasons for hiring you." The Commander glances away, then turns back to Roctis. "You can carry on with your work. We expect results, Mr. Kravei."

"Of course. The corporation has not managed to buy entire governments and star systems by expecting any less." Roctis bows before he can stop himself.

When he quickly and stiffly straightens again, the Commander is looking at him with what he thinks is amusement or perhaps bemusement; it is sometimes difficult to tell with these species. "You nobles are always so formal," the Commander says before leaving him to his own devices.

Roctis breathes out, grateful for the Commander's absence. With the live readings pulled up on his tablet, he enters the spire, passing under its tall, open arches. He looks up and it is enchantment and glimmering lights. From his team's investigations, the tower, while firmly believed to be for launching, seems only able to accommodate objects of very little to no real mass: impractical at the very least, as reducing a ship's mass to nothing to travel faster than light would itself make such towers pointless. A possibility, then, that whatever civilization used such towers had the ability to reduce mass and yet whose ships lacked the technology to travel very far; strange, considering the latter is a lot easier to figure out than the former.

Roctis only notices that he's walked to the top of the spire when he finally looks up from the data. He stares down and it's a tunnel of light, swirling and endless.

He does not even notice when he's gone, body shattered into red dust, simply disappeared.

His tablet falls and slams into the floor. A scientist trots in at the sound. "Huh." She picks up the pieces and looks up, noticing the red glitter slowly falling towards her. "Oh...That's a shame." She turns over a broken piece of screen in her hand. "I guess someone will have to report this."

* * *

"So, when's our next crime?" M-21 asks with a tilt of his head, peering over Frankenstein's shoulder as Frankenstein inspects Raizel's newly repaired ship.

" _Our?_ "

"You think I moved back in with you and quit my job just to sit around all day? And, my new friend is joining." M-21 leans back to hook an arm around Raizel's neck, pulling him in.

Raizel's breath catches in his chest and his eyes widen a little as he is thrown off balance. He quickly composes himself and looks at M-21, not knowing whether to be surprised or grateful or simply confused.

"You can do what you want," Frankenstein says as he stands up from crouching. "You've done well, Master. It looks like new."

"I would appreciate if it remains that way this time, Frankenstein." Raizel smiles a little.

"Ah..."

M-21 gives Raizel an amused glance.

It happens suddenly, like an impact, something hurtling towards and then striking his soul, a meteorite. Raizel is left breathless.

Frankenstein narrows his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Raizel looks up at him. "I..." He glances to the side, trying to discern the feeling, and he recognizes a presence: Cetus, the Kravei clan, filling his soul, as if they have returned home. "...Roctis."

"I haven't heard that name in a while."

"I sense the Kravei." Raizel realizes, "They are within me."

M-21's brow creases. "I'm sorry?"

Raizol looks distantly. "Roctis and Cetus, they are with me in soul, no longer physical."

"The hell?" M-21 brushes his hair back. "I mean, this happened just now? Does it hurt or anything?"

Raizel shakes his head. "They are simply, there."

"You are fine, then?" Frankenstein asks.

Raizel nods.

"Good." Frankenstein lets out a sigh. "That's all that matters. We can look further into it later." He does not care much for the two Kravei's he's known. "Now, if you two are planning on 'helping' me, I suppose I should show you the plans."

Raizel nods, though his downcast eyes are still troubled. He remembers Roctis. He used to visit, and oh how he loved his daughter, a tumultuous, sacrificial love that Raizel knows well—he looks at Frankenstein. He feels the Kravei clan's ancestors turn just beneath his own soul like fluid heading towards homogenization, distant and unreachable. Something inside him feels cold at the thought that those souls could burn up inside him, fuel for his life force. He lets out a breath. Raizel would simply have to be careful then.

* * *

"Ignes Kravei, as of right now, we cannot be one hundred percent certain your father is dead, as there is no evidence of any causes and no one or thing was around to see anything happen. However, based on the testimony of the scientist and what we know of noble bodies when they die, death is a possibility."

"No." Ignes stands up from the edge of her small bed, raising her voice. "Cetus. If he had actually died, the clan's soul weapon would directly go to me. I _don't have it_."

The man behind the glass shrugs. "There are no traces of him anywhere. That is all we know for now." He looks awkwardly at the floor. "I'm...sorry."

"Don't," Ignes snarls. "I don't need your pity or your condolences. I don't need any of that. I don't...I don't need _him_."

A silence falls. The man clears his throat. "I will leave you alone then." He walks away down the hall, and once again, Ignes is alone.

As she has always been. She sits back down, her bed creaking, and she rests her elbows on her knees, her chin on her fingers. She stares at the wall, unloving, unmoving. She stares; she stares.

 _Dead to me._ And he is.

* * *

Raizel studies the plans of the facility projected from his wrist for a little while more before putting it away. He thinks silently for a moment. "Why do you do this, Frankenstein?" he ventures to ask, finding the courage in himself.

"Why do we do anything?" is Frankenstein's response.

Raizel kneels down, getting a closer look at Frankenstein's hands as he repairs one of Gilgamesh's panels: a little demonstration, just for Raizel. "You once condemned those whom you called criminals."

"So did you, and now look, you're working with one." Sure, labeled 'hostage,' but still. Frankenstein turns to Raizel. "Do you miss it, your old life?"

It is a slow answer. "I miss Lukedonia, our home." He pauses. "I miss... _you_." Raizel looks down, careful. "I cannot say I miss Earth; I never knew it." It is a pitiful confession.

Frankenstein stares at him for a moment before going back to the demonstration. "Do you know how it happened? How Earth was destroyed?" An unhappy smile. "It wasn't the nobles or the werewolves or even the Union, no. It was just...us. _Petty human conflict_." He laughs. "You spend your entire existence trying to help them, trying to save them, only for them to destroy themselves. Hilarious, isn't it?" It is a pitiful confession.

Frankenstein does not say another word.

Raizel watches on in a silence that provides no comfort.


	24. Chapter 24

Frankenstien is no stranger to flirting with death, and yet, he would never bed her, that smokey temptress. He is well aware that if he does not keep sprinting—he's been running for as long as he can remember—he will meet his end far sooner than anticipated, and so he is after something more elusive now: information. Research and data and blueprints of whatever it is that prevents his ship from doing what he needs it to do. He cannot risk anymore hiccups in the future.

The first time he had sought Lexda out willingly was when he stole Gilgamesh, and he did not get away unscathed.

A pity he can no longer contact Roctis for inside help this time. "Master, I trust that you know the controls now?"

"I will do my best," Raizel says, determination once again on his face, as if he has something to prove both to Frankenstein and himself.

There is a low hum throughout the ship, like a calm shadow over them all as they take their places, almost silently, like clockwork, as if it were only the most natural thing in the world to become villains, to steal and destroy and be careless and careful. Frankenstein has always been a criminal.

M-21 and Frankenstein descend from the cloaked looming ship.

"We're going to die." M-21's lips turn up in an amused smirk. "No offense, Frankenstein, but this isn't exactly the Union. They know what they're doing." Having been in law enforcement, M-21 remembers cases loosely connected to Lexda that were always mysteriously settled elsewhere and never spoken of again, and when he inquired, the higher ups would be either tight lipped or airheaded.

"We'll be fine," Frankenstein says. "We always turn out fine."

M-21 lets out a half chuckle. "You're sure?"

Frankenstein smiles. "Not at all."

* * *

The control room is full of shapes: screens, dials, projections, and other readings, like mosaics, and almost as nonsensical as kaleidescopes. Alone but not quite, Raizel reaches into himself, and somewhere, in some other plane of existence, he searches for souls. The Kravei clan swims in his veins, in the space between his existence, but he cannot make out individuals. There is flicker of something, acknowledgement perhaps, but it is gone as quickly as it came and there is no more.

Raizel looks back at the maps tracking Frankenstein's and M-21's locations, and smiles to himself, just a little. _Criminals,_ a bizarre development. Who is he to sentence anyone now? Free of his old life, and is this not what he has always wanted? Always dreamed of? Looking out his window pondering about what lies beyond, and now he is in the sky, between stars, between entire worlds. Planets and ships and stations among space and space dust: a universe to explore. Should he not be elated? What more can he ask for? He is beyond greedy.

Circle chirps at his feet and he bends down to pick it up, giving it a couple pats before placing it back down, sighing warmly at the imitation of a companion.

He looks back at the map, the orbiting base in sight. To him, it looks like a goliath.

* * *

The engineer falls to the ground with a metallic clang, and M-21 shoves the unconscious body to the side with a leg before approaching the console, keying device in hand to plug into an available port. He remembers all too well even now that incident long ago: an imposter, a wrecked lab, stolen data, and he had crushed that very imposter criminal, daring to wear his old friend's face, with his own claws. And now, he is doing just what the Union had done. But at least this is much less sad, and much less evil.

M-21 spots an innocent enough looking port and slides the slim device in. The butt of the key lights up and projects a small screen, and M-21 barely has to look at it to navigate to the data he needs, having done this on other missions for his job plenty of times before—just take it all.

An ugly sound, the sound of something going wrong, draws his eyes back to the device. Stuck on 87%, the key is rejected, "Unauthorized Usage," blinking on the console's screen, and then shortly after, "Information Breach." M-21 knows bad signs when he sees them, especially when they flash in bold letters in front of his face in time with irritating, droning alarms. Heart thudding, he swiftly pockets the key along with whatever information it was able to gather and darts out of the lab.

His earpiece crackles. "M-21?" it is Frankenstein's voice. "What happened?"

"What do you think? We've been detected."

Frankenstein sighs on the other end. "Master, it would be wise to get the ship ready to warp. Can you tell us the nearest extraction point to both of us?"

Surprisingly quickly, "Room 2814 in the gamma wing straight ahead of M-21 and above and 'northwest' of Frankenstein," Raizel says, and he almost sounds rehearsed.

" _Fantastic._ I'll meet you all there." They can hear the air rushing past Frankenstein's earpiece.

Heavy clangs reverberate through the halls, signalling a lockdown as the emergency gates close off all rooms and exits. They are easy enough to force through.

Something burns his shoulder and for a moment, his ears ring and his eyes see nothing but white.

"Considerate of you to come here yourself." The Commander's voice is calm, and Frankenstein turns around. She does not lower her gun. "And you brought a few friends as well—a little party you're throwing for yourself perhaps?" She drops her pleasant tone, and coldy and quickly, she says, "We have all extraction points surrounded; it would be much easier to just surrender and return _all_ that you've taken."

Frankestein tries a cynical grin. "And then what? You'll kill us?"

"That's not completely up to me." A pause. "But, I suppose I must admit I can't guarentee your survival whether you surrender or not, though I can put in a good word for you if you cooperate now."

"Frankenstein, what are you _doing_?!" The urgency in M-21's voice is clear in his earpiece. "We're waiting for you, and I can't hold off these guys forever." There is some yelling in the background followed by the beams of searing lasers. "And Raizel doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. Tried to defend the ship, missed all his shots, gave away his position. Get over here."

The Commander seems to perk up after a quick word from one of the highly decorated, and highly enhanced soldiers flanking her. "Oh, great news." Her voice draws Frankenstein's attention back to her. "Save you the effort of cooperation: we can just take everything ourselves."

"Frankenstein, we really have to leave!"

"They've sent in more ships," Raizel says.

Power hums up Frankenstein's arms. He throws dark lightning at the sqad in front of him, and before the dust can even start to settle, he is sprinting away only for his path to be abruptly cut off in a flash as that same decorated soldier slams into the ground in front of him. It is a wonder that the floor does not buckle under them.

Frankenstein barely manages to dodge the swing of the soldier's telescopic staff, glowing with blue veins. When the soldier stands, they tower, mountainous in their stance, armor shimmering with a violent power, flickers of contained electricity vibrating under each careful plate: machine and organicity married into a fantasy. They wear no expression, their face a subtly curved metal with a central seam down the middle. Frankenstein briefly wonders if it could part to reveal something terrible.

They clash, claw to claw, and Frankenstein manages to shove them aside and attempt again to flee, only for them to swing at his heels. He leaps and once again summons that dreadful lightning. The soldier hardly seems phased, and while on any other day, in any other location, Frankenstein would gladly take the time to have a little fun with a novel opponent, and one so vainly designed (almost as much as himself), time presses against him. He cannot have the other two stay a moment longer. "Master, M-21, leave."

"You're insane," is the only dumb thing M-21 can manage.

"I'm caught in a difficult place. For you to stay any longer puts everyone in more danger than we're currently in. Leave before they do anything to Gilgamesh; we don't know what they can do."

"Frankenstein…" is Raizel's worried yet still quiet voice. "We cannot, _cannot_ , abandon you."

"I'll be fine, I promise."

"I will come to y—"

"You get off that ship, they take it, and we're all stuck here! Leave." Frankenstein breathes. "I've been captured before; I've always gotten away. I promise, we'll see each other again." Then, for the first time in a long, long, while, Frankenstein pries open that bond between them. Assurance, he sends him. _You'll always know I'm fine, Master. We've found each other once before, we can do it again._

Because against all hope and all odds and all the asteroids hurtling through the vast, vast cosmos, they had found each other, 1620 years later, and wasn't that star-stopping?

A short silence that is too long. _I trust you, Frankenstein._

 _Thank you._

"M-21, get on the ship with whatever data you have. Master, get Gilgamesh somewhere safe. I'll see you all later."

In the distance, Gilgamesh rumbles, a godly goodbye. They tear through space and disappear.

Frankenstein turns back, facing the Commander, clapping his hands together once. "Alright, you have me," he announces. He smiles. "You're welcome."

* * *

"What?!"

Zarga audibly clears his throat at Urokai, but that doesn't stop him.

"Oh my god, oh my fucking god, fuck him!" Urokai paces around for a few steps, his frustrated hands in his hair. Suddenly, he seems to remember whom he's talking to on the crystal screen wall of the apartment living room. "Oh, ah, sorry, Sir Raizel." He sighs, wilting a little. "Why is he like this?"

Zarga turns his eyes from a seething Urokai back to Raizel and M-21. "Is there any way of knowing where he is?"

M-21 shrugs. "I still have this"—he pulls out the key—"but I don't know what's on it, and I wouldn't know how to read it anyway."

At this, Zarga blinks. "Oh, that. I can do that." His fingers touch his chin in thought. "Is it possible he's still where you—"

"Sir Raizel," Urokai starts. "Can I ask, what's the range of your connection to him? Can you sense him now?"

"I can sense his state, but he is too distant for me to know where he is. I've yet been able to communicate with him."

"Damn. Damndamndamndamndamn." Urokai shuffles about again.

Zarga, with somewhat tired eyes watches his partner for a moment, gathering his thoughts before focusing again on the screen. "To start, we should take a look at what information you have, and hopefully, Frankenstein can keep himself alive long enough for us to find him. M-21, Sir Raizel, Urokai and I will be waiting for you."

" _Fantastic,_ " M-21 says.

The connection terminates, and Raizel lets out a soft breath he had not realized he was holding. "…I abandoned him, again," he confesses quietly.

M-21 turns. "You didn't," he says, and Raizel looks at him with eyes that hold an honesty that questions his own ancientness, because it is as if Raizel were seeing the world for the first time. "We're looking, aren't we? And we'll find him." He offers a lopsided smile. "Then, once he's back, you can let him have a piece of your mind, for all of us."

* * *

The quiet hum of the ship is his only companion as he walks the halls, ghostly. The gates open and close for him and he is back in the only strangely familiar place he knows now, his brother. "I don't understand any of it," he whispers in a childish attempt to find comfort, not really expecting a response. In the back of his mind, he feels like crying, but his face is dry. "I don't…understand."

 _What **do** you understand?_

Raizel looks up, surprised.

 _You've never understood anything._

He thinks for a moment. "I understood you, Brother. I understood fear."

 _You misdiagnose me._

"You feared for yourself."

 _It was for both of us. The bloodstones, they were for us. We were to be powerful, undying, gods, a duty to ourselves. Why do you think I left you one? You tried to kill me-you tried to kill yourself._

"That is only an illusion you would believe."

 _We are alike, Raizel._

"Only in face and skin."

 _No…no, you **know,** Raizel. When we are together, you and I, one form, this ship—my body—and yours, they are indistinguishable. We know each other **intimately.** Nostalgic, isn't it?_

Raizel purses his lips. He sighs and sits on the floor, arms resting on knees pulled close to his chest. In silence, _You're the only thing I know in this world..._ he admits. _I feel like I'm dreaming, that I still have yet to wake from when you put me to sleep. I knew only our duty, and even that is no longer with us. To protect an Earth I knew nothing about, and now, I can no longer return._

 _Earth was never our planet anyway._

Raizel looks up at the dancing lights. "What do you mean?"

 _Our so called duty was a false one. We were…something else, from somewhere far, older than Earth's oxygen._

Raizel looks down again, resting his chin on his arms, pondering over those words for a moment. "You are incomprehensible, Brother," he says.

They stay in silence for a while.


	25. Chapter 25

Zarga walks into the command room with the device in between his fingers and takes a seat with the others at the circular bench. He tosses the key to M-21. "I don't know what you want to do with that; I've already uploaded all the information to the lab computers." He leans back, throwing an arm behind the the seat and crossing his legs. "There was a lot of data I don't understand—I'll leave that to Frankenstein when he gets back—but there were also locations of several other bases connected to the research facility and the identities of several seemingly high ranking officials—not many, but enough to get started." Zarga sighs and rubs his fingers across his forehead and eyes. "I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe I'm here again."

M-21, raises an eyebrow, his arms resting on his knee. "Is that really surprising?"

The noble drops his hand to stare at the ceiling for a second. "No," he says. "Of course not." He straightens. "I swear, if I get fired for this…" he mumbles under his breath.

Urokai, with a huff, stands and briskly walks over to the central computer projection. Quickly, he retrieves the lab computer data and looks at the stars. "The closest base is here." He points to a small blue dot on the projection.

Raizel's eyes roam over the map. "We can get there within two hours," is his estimate. He looks down, and quietly, "If they do not give us what we need, we may…obtain a few hostages." He glances bashfully away.

They all pass a beat of silence with surprised eyes on Raizel.

M-21 chuckles. "Makes sense."

* * *

His cell is sterile and just cold enough to be uncomfortable. It only takes him five and a half steps to get from one side to the other. Frankenstein sighs and continues counting his steps between the walls, the same number over and over again. He pauses to look up at his reflection in the one glass wall, brushes his hair back neatly, pulls out a pair of bright green lashes from a pocket, puts them on, then resumes pacing.

A knock on the glass. "Mr. Frankenstein," says a tender, soothing voice, like wind whistling through a forest canopy.

"Please, just 'Frankenstein.'"

"How are you finding your accommodations?" The woman in blue asks.

"Absolute luxury," he says flatly. "But, if I may make a suggestion"—he raises his arms, showing off the shiny power dampening cuffs accented with bright orange—"these things don't really do anything for me; you might as well take them off. They're not my style, you see."

She only gives him a small smile. "Denied. Mr. Frankenstei—"

"Just Frankenstein."

"Frankenstein, I won't pretend Lexda does not value minds such at yours. We've had our eyes on you for some time. Our access to souls has been rather limited; people generally aren't very willing to sell them—"

"I can't imagine why."

"However, you've done much research on and weaponized them to an astounding degree."

A sour look crosses Frankenstein's face. "Is that what they're saying? That I did that?" A joyless chuckle. "I suppose they're right..."

"And integrated them into Lexda technology, a prospect of fantastic promise. The corporation would gladly overlook your previous…behavior for your resources and experience." Then, with a particular note of cheeriness, "We are all on the brink of something great."

"I'll have to consider it," Frankenstein responds tightly.

"It would be a shame to waste someone like you." Her eyes are wide and optimistic.

Frankenstein smirks. "Again, flattering."

* * *

Zarga groans as he takes a seat on the floor next to their newly captured insider. He leans back against the wall. He'll have to get both his suit and his gun repaired after that episode. Probably have to find a new job too, if anyone would be willing to hire him if word gets out about their little heist. He takes a sip of coffee from the blue eggshell patterned mug—Frankenstein's mug he found in a cabinet—and rolls the bitter taste around in his mouth. It's not that he particularly enjoys the taste of the drink and it's not as if nobles are affected by caffeine, but something about leisurely and tiredly sipping a hot, dark, bitter drink brings him a vain sort of peace. "Believe me, we're not evil. We're just trying to get our friend back. Just tell us what you know and we let you go."

The man—though Zarga isn't completely sure—shifts away from him as best he can with his hands and legs bound. He glances at the badge on Zarga's chest. "This is outside your responsibilities as a cop."

"Yep." Another sip. "I really shouldn't even be here. Everyone on this ship is an idiot. Except for…no, nevermind—he doesn't know what he's doing." A soft, sympathetic look passes over Zarga's face as he looks down at the coffee. "So, are you ready to cooperate?"

The captive does not say any more.

They both perk up at the sound of swift footsteps. Raizel walks into the room closely followed by a vaguely concerned Urokai. "Sir Raizel, are you sure? Maybe you should rest."

"I am fine." He turns to the two on the ground and approaches. "This will not require much exertion from me." He stands tall before the man and looks down, eyes of authority, of honest determination. He kneels. Their eyes are level.

Raizel presses his lips together in a tight line for a moment, brows almost furrowing, considering. An anxiety flutters in his chest. "I apologize. This is beyond my rights and an unjust use of my powers." Gently, he reaches forward to brush the man's hair from his eyes. Raizel's eyes are glowing, piercing, and guilty. He breathes in. _"You will reveal to me all you know."_

His powers are grand, grandiose, the remnants of a now long gone history, like the artifacts of an empire. Resistance greets him in the man's mind, but with a casual push, Raizel exerts his dominion upon him and his knowledge, like a crashing wave. He holds governance over minds and blood, or at least, he was meant to.

Once, the Noblesse might have breached another's mind for the notion of a justice he had been taught—been assigned to defend. An invasion of such privacy was reserved for criminals, reserved for judgment, and to a noble, privacy of the mind is only second to privacy of the soul. Those powers were not meant for Raizel, but now, he finds himself using them anyway, and he is terrified.

* * *

The lab building is arrogant in its architecture, arches and lines sweeping into the sky as the whole structure spirals upward as if to demand attention from the heavens itself to justify its own existence. The soldier—the same one from the Commander's side—guides Frankenstein inside and to the appropriate lab.

Doctor Chey turns from watching the large glass dome containing some sort of rapidly spinning lightning situated on heavy machinery. "Glad you could make it, Frankenstein," she says. "I hope EX-7 didn't give you too much trouble."

"A guard and the cuffs? You don't trust me?"

She smiles. "Of course not."

"Hey, Old Man."

Frankenstein turns.

"You never called." The man with the red hair chuckles, putting his hands in the pockets of his lab suit as he walks over to him. "Didn't even ask for my name, how cold."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He shrugs. "I guess not really. Call me Don." He puts out his hand.

Frankenstein takes it.

"I'll fill you in on what's going on, Frankenstein." Doctor Chey grabs a tablet from a nearby counter and pulls up some data. "As you likely know, souls have been shown to exhibit a spatial and temporal distortion similar to those created by some warp technologies. Recently, there's been a discovery of an artifact, a spire"—she navigates to a photo of said spire, and Frankenstein recognizes it—"that, upon further investigation, is a sort of relay once commonly used for ships. However, this one doesn't work on anything with mass. But, do you know what is massless and can still take physical form?"

"Souls." Frankenstein knows them well.

"Absolutely. At their core, souls are information, a peculiar way to store vast data. We wonder if perhaps this spire could be a part of a system that forms a sort of 'cloud' for souls, rapidly teleporting information from one place to another across star systems. In particular, it seems to respond to noble type souls."

"Noble physiology is also noteworthy," Don adds, leaning against the lab bench. "Their bodies aren't entirely physical, formed from information that is available to the soul. If they know a form well enough, they can probably take it, including the inorganic—we've seen soul weapons before—meaning that transportation of the soul can equate to transportation of whatever form the soul can take." Don smiles. "This, you might guess, is rather valuable. If we are able to move between the physical and nonphysical—mass and massless—and still preserve information on a large scale, it would a breakthrough, especially for intergalactic travel."

"You've managed to give Gilgamesh a soul, or souls, according to our reports. I'm sure you understand why we find your work valuable." Doctor Chey places the tablet back down on the table.

"Of course."

* * *

The lights cast a warm, moody glow on all the surfaces: the tile floors, the lacquered wood tables. His eyes, usually a deep red, shimmer like an orange fire under this light as his gaze sweeps the establishment. There are only a few people here at this hour, chatting softly, sipping soft drinks, bright hair piled high and brashly on their heads. They don't spare him a glance.

A man walks into the diner, his skin patterned and shifting like an octopus, eyes shaded by a pronounced brow. Raizel wonders for a moment if he can be human but senses no soul from him. "You came alone?"

Raizel nods. The service bot slides him his glass of sweetened juice on the counter. Raizel takes a sip and the man, with much weight, takes the seat next to him. Even sitting, he towers over Raizel.

"So you're the one who's been asking all the questions lately. 'Polite and hospitable to a fault,' my cousin told me." He rests his elbows on the counter and looks over to Raizel, eyes efficiently running over his body. "You're smaller than I thought. Human?"

Raizel gently shakes his head. "A noble."

Something in the man's eyes brightens. "Ah, one of those…soul people. Dangerous." He gives him a lopsided smile, like the moon. "But I don't mind a little danger."

Raizel continues sipping his juice, unable to determine the man's motive as he usually is able to do with creatures with souls. He gets to the point. "What do you wish for in return for your information?"

"If I'm not mistaken, you and your crew are in possession of Gilgamesh. I'd like to have a look inside. Simple as that, honey." The alien leans in closer.

"You will not take it."

"I won't."

Raizel drops his gaze and considers in silence for a moment. He looks up in surprise when he feels a broad hand inch over his hip to his lower back. He understands the gesture well enough.

The man's eyes are lidded. "Perhaps we should go somewhere with a little more privacy to discuss details."

To Raizel, touch is intimate, perhaps even sacred. It has only ever been Frankenstein who has shared this intimacy with him, eons ago, and Raizel still remembers well their shared heat. He closes his eyes and breathes out, wondering if this is forgivable. He is aware of what kind of mood can be induced with physical intimacy, perhaps even one that would favor his own motives.

His eyes once again catch his now pursuer. "Perhaps we should," Raizel says quietly as he gets up from his seat. He waits for him at the door.

The man is rough, and memories of endless, heated encounters and pleasant things in the old Lukedonian mansion resurface, and Raizel finds himself missing them. He is rather used to being rough and being roughed up; it was always like a game, and Frankenstein enjoyed his games.

He speaks to Raizel in a lull, his voice a low, sleepy rumble, talking about both things that don't matter and things that do matter. Once or twice, he says more than he should, and Raizel is a careful listener as he pulls the covers a little higher on his bare skin.

When he at last mumbles himself to sleep, Raizel sits up, takes a tiny, flat pin device from the band on his wrist, and with bated breath, presses it into the shifting skin of his bedwarmer's arm. It slides under and disappears, and Raizel is quick to wipe away the single drop of blood left behind. Silently, he shifts out of the bed, cleans, and then dresses himself. He slides open the balcony glass, walks out, and leaps from the 28th story of the hotel.

He raises his wrist phone to his ear. "It is done," he informs them.

"Alright," M-21 says. "In a few moments, we'll have live updates on his location as well as audio. According to the last guy, he's supposed to be a pretty big deal, overseeing some important projects for the corporation. If they're not planning on killing Frankenstein and are instead going to use him for something, he probably has a clue." He lets out a an amused hum. "Good job, Raizel."

Raizel blinks at this. He cannot help but let himself smile. He does not know what to say.


	26. Chapter 26

Urokai takes out a small cloth to wipe his eye before popping it back into the socket to continue staring intensely at the monitor. He had never been good at the science stuff, even back in his Union days, but something about whatever data was stolen from the Lexda base continues to distract him, like an elusive itch. Rows and rows of numbers and symbols and lines he's never seen before and bars of color, and he could just chalk it up to him being stupid and bad at science and math if it isn't for the strange feeling that he _should_ know what all of this means. The feeling sticks to him like humid air. Like any of this is supposed to be familiar to him at all.

"Weird, right?" Zarga nods at the screen.

"You feel it too?"

"Yeah. Glad I'm not the only one. Thought I was starting to go insane from having to deal with you guys all the time."

Urokai's face momentarily creases unflatteringly in irritation. "Well, I can't understand any of this," he says. "It's probably not that important right now anyway," though he can't shake the feeling that it is.

"Right." Zarga sighs. "Let's just focus on finding Frankenstein then. He'll figure out what that is."

Urokai nods.

* * *

Raizel feels the weight of the sleek, white gun in his hand, he aims, he fires, he misses, utterly. The holographic practice target remains standing tall and arrogant. He tries again. And again.

He sighs. Raizel had not realized that such type of combat requires more precision than he is used to. His powers had always been so grand, so sweeping and overwhelming, that he never had to worry much about precise aiming or footwork or movement. The Noblesse would stand in the sky as if the very heavens bowed down to him as he sentenced those whom he had judged in his arbitrary ways, reading souls like data presented to him in an open book. How arrogant.

Raizel is not him, never wanted to be him. He takes aim, he fires. The white, featureless practice target clutches at its chest as it stumbles over.

The Noblesse had died a long, long time ago.

M-21 claps. "Nice." He walks over the control panel on the wall. "Now, how about you try your hand at moving targets?"

Raizel gives him a determined nod.

* * *

"Are you stupid?"

"Definitely."

Ignes leans in her seat, throwing her arm over the back as she stares at the cute pink box Muzaka has pushed in front of her, the gold foiled wolf head logo staring back at her. "Why?"

"Why not?" Muzaka smiles, earnestly, and for some reason, it irks Ignes. "Not having tried one of my cakes is a crime in and of itself." He looks to a nearby guard. "Is she allowed to eat here?"

"If the gift has already been approved by security, then there's no reason she can't if it's appropriate to eat it."

"Great!" He turns back to Ignes, eyes wide and excited. "So…?"

Ignes sighs, only a little irritated at seeing that dumb werewolf grin, a grin she should have gotten rid of when she had the chance while experimenting on him back on Earth. She reaches forward and opens the box, the sides unfolding and falling flat, revealing a round cake decorated with red flowers and a small, plastic fork. She cuts into the cake and tries a piece. It is tenderly sweet, the icing soft. She looks down at the remaining cake. "...It's good," she admits.

Muzaka laughs, placing his chin in his fingers. "As expected."

A short silence passes. "Why?" Ignes asks, looking at him as if he's a strange, dumb riddle.

Muzaka raises his eyebrows. "You keep asking that. Maybe I just want to. Maybe I just like giving people cakes." He shrugs. "Nothing wrong with a little extra goodwill here and there."

"You say that as if I deserve it."

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't. To be honest though, you're one of the biggest bitches I know, and that's coming from a dog such as myself." Muzaka waves his hand, gesturing to himself in mock flattery before chuckling. "Doesn't change the fact that I made and brought you this cake, so enjoy it a little, will you?"

Ignes presses the fork into the cake again. "That's stupid."

"Well, I'm stupid, remember?"

* * *

Ignes sighs and finishes the rest of the cake. That night, in her lonely cell, she wonders if she would ever have anything as sweet as that again. She wonders if her father would have done something like that for her. He probably would have.

"M-21, Sir Raizel, will you join us for breakfast?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." M-21 shuts off the training simulation as Raizel stops firing.

Raizel looks at Urokai. "You would like me to join?"

"Yes! Of course, Sir Raizel. Food's already on the table." Urokai smiles.

Raizel blinks and then smiles softly in return.

"Alright, good news, it's confirmed that they're definitely not trying to kill Frankenstein." Zarga sits down at the round, white dining table with the rest of the crew. He places the fresh coffee next to his... "Urokai, what is this?"

"Eggs, I think. I just found them in the fridge."

Zarga pokes at the squishy, pink substance with his fork before reaching for the salt. "Anyway, apparently, they're having him work on some big project, something to do with souls and nobles."

"His specialty," M-21 adds.

"Location is somewhere around the Star Goliath." Zarga cuts at his egg. "He's not allowed to roam much outside the facility and he's accompanied at all times, so it's unlikely he can just waltz outside for us to pick him up."

"So, what's the plan?"

"You tell me. They'll shoot us down the moment they recognize any of us or the ship."

The crew silently put their collective minds together to come up with something, the only sound being the sound of silverware on plates.


	27. Chapter 27

Frankenstein breathes and sinks his teeth into his neck only enough to pinch..

Don sighs. "So what happens if you take my blood?"

"We make a contract." He moves up to his lips, pinning Don's hands above his head, tired of them wandering around, touching everything. Don swallows him deeply. The taste of blood slips onto their tongues, and Frankenstein pulls away. "It only works when both parties desire it," he says, dropping Don's hands and wiping away the blood on his lips.

"I'm not good enough for you?" That forked tongue peeks out as Don licks at his wound and smiles with his sharp teeth. He slinks up to him, placing a hand on Frankenstein's hip, looking up suggestively like a drink entirely too good. "Who's your type?" He presses his nose into Frankenstein's hair. "Who have you given your soul to, Old Man? Don't pretend like you're only human."

"That's my business."

"You're a vampire." He nips at Frankenstein's ear. "Why don't you bite?"

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"I know perfectly well." He nuzzles against Frankenstein's neck. "Humans, they're disgusting, don't you think? I want no part of it. They can all go to Hell for all I care. Surely, it's not too much trouble to turn me into something else?" He pulls back to smile at Frankenstein like a pretty ribbon on a present, and Frankenstein pushes him back by the shoulder until he holds him at arm's length.

"Never touch me again." His voice is low. Frankenstein turns around, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he heads back into the lab.

Dr. Chey is working away at a computer. She steps back from the holographic projection. "This was sent over from the research base E43 near Star Holrypso. We don't have anything that can read it." She reaches forward and with a swipe, rotates the abstract structure of colors and lines. Points move in space in loops and arcs, dancing like the rhymes of riddles. "It's what was eventually retrieved from the spire. It's anyone's guess at this point what it actually is."

"The only thing that looks somewhat similar is the soul." She taps her fingers against a nearby table, lets out an enthusiastic sigh, and smiles, both impatient and endlessly hopeful for what could possibly come in the future. For a moment, Frankenstein remembers wearing that same expression himself, a long time ago.

"But who's to say we won't come up with something soon?" She straightens and spins on her heel to face Frankenstein. "Dark Spear, they're fascinating, aren't they?"

"Oh." Franken is taken aback by the sudden inquiry. "They're _riveting_."

Dr. Chey nods and smiles. "Made of souls and always hungry for more, and all so closely, so _intimately_ accessible to _you_." She pulls out a data key from a nearby drawer and plugs it into the computer. After a moment, she pockets it. "If you could, follow me. I'd like to try something."

She leads him and his biomechanical guard—Ark 2, they were called—down to a large, open room with startlingly blank, white walls: the interior of an empty and sterile cube, much like one of his old underground bunkers on Earth. "Please, summon them," she tells him. "Oh!" Dr. Chey jumps a little. "The cuffs…" She reaches forward to unlock them.

Frankenstein's personal devil easily crackles at his fingers, lightning crawling up his arms and neck.

Dr. Chey holds up an arm in a shallow effort to shield herself as she steps forward. She pulls the device out of her pocket and places it on the ground in front of Frankenstein's feet and steps back. "Bon appetit," she says.

Well aware of the absurdity, Frankenstein, with every form of unnecessary fanfare, strikes the device, and Dark Spear, willing to swallow even the most insulting of meals, makes instant work of it. Like a blip in his radar, the information contained slips into his consciousness, whispering secrets within the roar of Dark Spear. "I don't know."

"I'm sorry?"

He dismisses Dark Spear, and the the cuffs crumble around his wrists, pieces falling to the floor. "Whatever information you had on that thing, I can't recognize it," he recites flatly.

"I see…" Dr. Chey kneels down to pick up the broken pieces. "I'll have to get you more robust ones," she sighs. "Are you sure you can't make anything out?"

"I'm sure." He briskly turns away and begins walking towards the exit.

She stares almost accusingly at him for a long moment, burrowing holes into him. "It was worth a shot," she concedes and picks herself up.

That night, in his guarded and well accommodating cell of a room, Frankenstein dreams of stars he's never seen before.

* * *

They had struck Earth, formless and older than any biology that existed on that planet. They were wandering souls, displaced out of their home light years and light years away with only partial memories and unspoken rumors of what had or had not happened, what could or could not be. Eventually, it didn't matter; eventually, they forgot.

Out of the nonexistent aether, he suddenly hurtles through space and time, and in one heartstopping breath, he arrives in a far away land and in an ethereal tower made of only the highest of hopes. He is standing in the gleaming, golden light reflected off the great spiralling statues flanking him that stretch higher and higher until they disappear into an artificial mist far above him. The floors are white and his eyes follow the gold, meandering seams that stitch them together. The veins glow and pulse with a simultaneously familiar and alien power. Something like a ghost whizzes past him, an amorphous fog whose tail retraces its path and quickly tangles into and up the structure until it disappears high above as well.

 _The vessel, is it ready?_

 _Let's go, let's go._

 _Where?_

 _As far away as we need to._

 _They'll destroy themselves, you know._

The ghosts continue their procession, rapidly, blindly.

"Master?"

There stand two of them in front of him, between the two structures. They glance through him, as if it is he who does not exist, and their images resonate and shift and overlap, dreamlike and disregarding the physical world until they are one, one ghost. A burst and ribbon of light ascends like an arrow shot straight into heaven's eye.

Silence befalls him.

* * *

"Sir Raizel? I've been meaning to talk to you if you'll allow it."

Raizel unstraps and places his toolbelt into a hidden container in one of the walls. He nods at Urokai, wordless and expressionless as he has always been.

"If, perhaps, we could go somewhere more private?" Urokai suggests, something in his wide, hesitant eyes pressing forward and pulling back both at once. He smiles a little, and it is an unsure smile, one that suggests that he himself does not like it very much.

Raizel leads them down the silent hallways to his room, now familiar enough with the ship's interior to make record time, and sits on his bed, motioning for Urokai to do the same. He folds his hands in his lap and stares, patiently waiting for words that will come.

"Maybe it's a bit awkward of me to bring this up now, when we're in the middle of…" Urokai makes rounding, encompassing motions with his hands. "... _this,_ but I was just thinking...about us back in Lukedonia, before you went to sleep." He looks down, parting and then closing his lips; something is stuck in his throat. He takes in a breath. "Frankenstein cared for you," he admits. "More than anything." Urokai smiles, soft with a deeply internal disappointment directed at nothing he can really grasp. "More than I could have and maybe ever will…" He suddenly straightens, shoulders pulled back and alert. "Not that I don't care for you!" he quickly adds. "What I mean is, my feelings for you back then, they weren't whole; they weren't...right, and I don't know if they're any better now—even now."

Urokai presses forward a little towards Raizel. "You know, I thought—I really thought—I deserved you and worse, was entitled to you." He sighs, subdued and yet simmering with a strange, buoyant emotion that threatens to spill into his quiet and intimate and mundane idolatry. "It was better that you were something unattainable, above everyone else, so then I at least could have pretended that I had no hope and no reason to expect anything of you, but you weren't that way to _him_ , and I couldn't stand it." He looks to Raizel with every taut emotion of his confession. "I _really_ couldn't stand it…"

Raizel stares silently for a long moment. Then, he lifts his hand just enough to pat Urokai gently on his lap, and Urokai chuckles quietly and fleetingly.

"Sir Raizel, you spared me even when I had helped them in your destruction. After what all the traitors and I had done, Muzaka and you brother...they were—it was already too late. I can't ever make this up to you—it's impossible—but I just wanted to say, thank you, Sir, for letting me do as I can now, at the very least."

Raizel, out of words wondrous enough to capture their little slice of unabashed truth, can only gently take hold of Urokai's hand in affirmation. "You are welcome, Urokai."

"Sir Raizel...you're _wonderful,_ " Urokai utters. "Isn't it strange, that I only really came to this realization once you were gone? I had began seeing you as Frankenstein did, because he _knew_ you, and I searched for you with him. And I think, even if he's being difficult, that he thinks no less of you now than how he did back then _._ He told you to leave him, I'm sure, because he cares, as you do." He smiles and sighs, almost defeatedly, "That's just like you two." Urokai looks into Raizel's eyes deeply, personally, as he turns his hand to grasp back at Raizel's.

"He is still Frankenstein," Raizel says.

"He's still Frankenstein," Urokai agrees. "And you, Sir _Cadis Etrama di Raizel_ ," he begins, announcing that name like it is infinitely proud of and not wholly sacred. "Are still Cadis Etrama di Raizel, whatever form you take."

There is sudden and deep rumble in the ship, a painful groan as it rocks. Circle bounds into the room, droning on in a constant loud siren until it reaches Raizel and leaps into his lap.

Urokai stands. "What's going on?"

Zarga runs in a beat later. "Oh, good, that dog thing found you. We're being attacked."

They are all in the control room within the next instant.

"What luck that we would find you so soon." The Commander gazes over them from the screen. "That little bug you planted in Dr. Hal, it wasn't very hard to trace back. Do consider implementing extra security measures next time. As always, you have the option of painlessly surrendering—"

"That's cute, but no thanks." M-21 quickly takes one of the seats, checking over the switches and screens and statuses.

"Very well." She nods to someone offscreen. "Then let me introduce you all, to _Bambi_." The communication ends and is replaced with the fireworks of guns and missiles and a lightshow of beams. It is the beginning of a parade.

Bambi, a ship a dozen times larger than Gilgamesh, unfolds its eight, towering legs, and rockets towards them. It narrowly misses striking them with two front legs.

"Hah! We're all going to die." Zarga grabs a seat, readying the guns under the wings. "Well, it's been nice knowing you."

"Oh, _shut up_ ," Urokai snaps.

His hands hover over the various switches and dials and other paraphernalia, blending together like a map of the most populated city in the galaxy, and making his eyes swim. "God, how do you do this?" Zarga mumbles as he begrudgingly starts to miss their old fighter.

"I'm activating the warp drive; we can't last in a dogfight with them," M-21 says. "It'll be a few minutes until it's ready. Guns A1 through A6 are offline. Front facing cannons two and three are at eighty three percent capacity."

And they are speeding away. Skating much too close to the edge, they feel each impact in the very walls.

"Does this thing have any force fields?" Zarga asks.

"Not if we're preparing to warp. They'll slow us down."

Raizel uselessly watches the exchange of fire. Then, he silently darts away.

"Sir Raizel?!"

Without much hesitation or a helmet, he enters a nearby airlock, and swiftly leaps out to the exterior of the ship, using minor gravity amplification to keep from flying off the spacecraft as it irregularly accelerates and decelerates. There is no wind in his hair, no air to breathe, and no sound. Weightless if it weren't for his powers, he propels himself to perch at the top and watches the catastrophe, feeling and seeing the surreal scene play like a silent film far removed from any reality he is familiar with. Beams to beams and lasers to lasers.

He extends his arms, and wrenches, from the pit of his being, a red force field, throwing it over the entirety of the ship. He can feel Bambi's attacks shake him. Its tremendous mechanical legs rise, and with great momentum, crash down on him once and then again. It barely misses a third time, to his relief. There are already cracks in his shield.

He feels someone grasp his shoulder and turns to see Urokai's terrified face and his own reflected in the glass of the helmet. He says something Raizel can't hear. Suddenly, he points above over Raizel's head.

The force field shatters, and the impact shakes his very bones. With impossible speed, he sweeps Urokai off his feet and leaps away before the the legs can crush them both. Bambi lands heavily on Gilgamesh, and the nose of their ship dips and turns laboriously.

With his wings unfurled, Raizel blinks rapidly and shakes his head to dispel the blood pooling and sticking to his eyes from the lack of gravity. Small droplets slowly float away, unaware of the rising destruction around them. He flies back to the airlock and lets Urokai inside, but before he can fly off again, Urokai is holding onto his wrist, pulling him back like it is the most important thing he's ever done. Raizel allows him this. He enters the ship once again, his wings dissipating behind him.

Urokai yanks off his helmet. His hair falls over his shoulders. "Sir Raizel, please don't make that a habit."

Raizel wipes the blood off his face. "I apologize."

"No, no, I'm—we're just worried. I can't let something happen to you again." His hand timidly reaches up to Raizel's face. He retreats for a moment, but goes ahead anyway, brushing away the blood under Raizel's eye, and he stares at Raizel, in the wide eyed appreciation of some spell he had broken within himself. "You should rest," Urokai says. "We can take care of everything else."

Raizel smiles softly at him. "You sound like Frankenstein."

Urokai chuckles. "Do I? Oh, _gross_."

"Undoubtedly."

"Incoming communication," M-21 announces.

The Commander appears once again overlooking them from the screen. "It appears you have a little birdy on board." Her voice, though, as always, distinctly alien, holds a confident command of her words that can only arise when someone is utterly satisfied and precise with with how they present themself; she is precisely and only as she should be. "Gigamesh is an impressive piece, but don't think it can do everything. So...consider this offer, from Dr. Hal and me to you: that birdy comes with us, and we let the rest of you go, ship and all."

An offended expression crosses Urokai' face. "What kind of—"

"We're well aware of who you all are looking for. We'll take you straight to him, as long as you come alone with us, Birdy."

"As if we need your help with getting to him."

"You do. There are bigger and badder things than you out there, and we're one of them." She crosses her arms and nods. "I'll admit, warping is useful. A shame you can't use it to save anyone; that would involve more than just running away."

"You are dangerous," Raizel says, his voice clear and still, and all heads turn to him.

"We are." She offers, "Wouldn't it be nice to see your friend again? Wouldn't it be nice if we keep him alive?"

Raizel's eyes widen at this. His lips press tightly together and his brows crease. A beat of silence passes in quick consideration. "I accept. I will go with you."

"What?"

"Yo, Raizel, are you sure about that?"

He nods once with all the assurance he can muster. "This is my will. You will keep your word?"

"Oh please, we're not _villains_."

"Sounds like something a villain would say," M-21 mutters.

"I will meet you then." Raizel gives the rest of the crew one last deep look and turns away.

"Sir Raizel! Please, you don't have to do this." Urokai quickly grabs at his arm. "You're just going to disappear again? _Again?_ "

"I am sorry, Urokai." Raizel smiles remorsefully. "It appears the habit is difficult to break."

"Sir!" Zarga briskly strides over. "Sir." He artificially takes both of Raizel's hands into his own, almost smiling, a little stiff. "Stay safe, Sir."

Something is tucked into Raizel's palm. He gazes down briefly before looking back up into Zarga's and Urokai's eyes. "I—we will wait for you," he whispers, and he departs.

He leaps out into the vacuum and propels himself towards the towering mechanical beast suspended and open to embrace him into its deep belly. It swallows him whole. The communication ends, and Bambi bounds away as if it was never there, everything falling still in its wake.

Urokai clicks his tongue, his face turning sour. "He—They're just...That's _just_ like them."

"He can handle himself," Zarga says.

"How do you know?"

"I don't." Zarga sighs. "But we don't have any other option, do we?"

* * *

Frankenstein wakes, his hands and mind tingling like electrical sparks as he throws the cover off of himself and hops to his feet. In the dark, the lines and pins of light decorating his dutiful and silent prison guard shimmer brighter than the stars. He approaches and rudely taps on the hard surface of their face. "Hey, are you awake? Are you alive? Hey." He taps again. And again. "Hey—"

Ark 2 catches his hand before he can tap again and lowers it slowly and firmly for him.

"Oh, so you are alive. A shame." Frankenstein steps back and takes a good look at them—a personal gift from the Commander herself. "So, how about a deal? You turn around the other way, I leave, and you say you didn't see me." He smiles sweetly.

Ark 2 remains silent.

Frankenstein pats them on the shoulder like an old, drunken buddy. "Good talk. I agree. Alright, see you later, or never." He walks away and towards the heavy locked doors. The red control panel on the side is unapologetic about keeping him on the inside.

His new bracelets are slimmer, sleeker, and tighter than the cuffs. A single band of green light on each wrist presses inward on his powers, keeping them tightly woven to his soul. Frankenstein raises his hand to channel, calling on Dark Spear to surge forward, and they crash and roar in his veins, but the lightning that leaps from his fingers is crippled and sickly. The door remains unmoved and unimpressed. He tries again. Then again.

He lowers his hand. "So they've gotten that good"—no revelation. Frankenstein's powers are old technology. He is ancient, out of the game, and people had innovated past him.

Taking a breath, he steps back, readying himself once again. He dives deep within himself to find his way to Dark Spear to claw his way out of this prison. He grits his teeth as his arm ignites and he throws it forward.

It is stopped in its tracks by a gleaming staff surging with power. Ark 2 stands between him and the door. Dark Spear's powers dissipate into thin air.

Frankenstein sighs. "Right…"

They stare at him and then turn to the control panel, fingers doing this and that. After a couple affirming sounds, the console turns green. The doors slide open.

Frankenstein looks at the doorway, then at them, wholly dumbfounded and for once being the silent one. "Why?" he asks, but he gets no answer. "This can't be in your programming." He chuckles. "Huh, I was wrong. Thanks for being alive after all."

Frankenstein swiftly streaks down the halls, Ark 2 following closely behind him.


	28. Chapter 28

The paper thin, white fabric is stiff against his skin. Raizel pinches the end of the examination gown between his fingers as he looks around at the industrial architecture of the lab. The smooth tiles on the floor are cold against his bare feet, and the flimsy knots across his back despondently holding the gown to his body do little against the chilled air.

Dr. Hal tosses him a glance. "The _Noblesse_ , lean, mean, killing machine—divine judge and executioner... Do you know why you can have that title?" He paces the room, hands behind his back. "It's because of souls. Now, I'm not saying your soul in particular is special, though it could be; I'm talking about the mere existence of them. When you look into a soul, you're not merely seeing memories of the past—those are terribly unreliable—you see any and all instances of the person—past, present, future—their worldline, and _this_ lets you do your job to judge them."

Raizel wordlessly stares. "When will you take me to him?" he gently demands.

"Soon, soon…" Another moment passes as the doctor looks at him curiously, as if expecting something that doesn't come, and he chuckles and sighs. He holds something dark and metallic and sparkling in his hand. "Let me tell you something: there's a difference between the mind and the soul. Noble 'mind reading' is a misnomer; what you guys do and especially _you_ in particular is soul reading, and the only thing that can decipher a soul is another soul." He approaches. "And I'll tell you something else: no one else on this ship has a soul." The doctor smiles mysteriously at Raizel.

Raizel feels the cold spark on his skin, and suddenly, he feels nothing. He and his world dissolve like physicality is only a distant dream. The red dust flickers and disappears.

"Can you hear me in that state?" Dr. Hal asks. He reaches forward to where the light and space bend, where Raizel used to stand but now only exists as a spatial anomaly. "I've always wondered, why beings of higher dimensions would confine themselves to just three." He raises a small, dark cube. Its seams glow. "Souls are one of the few things that transcend time and space. You don't know how valuable you are."

Raizel's soul stretches and bends and spirals in. The gown and tracker once hidden under his skin is on the floor.

* * *

"This is the same data I took from the research base." He crosses his arms. "What does this have to do with _him?_ " Frankenstein clicks his tongue, staring at the forms of the holograph of the tower and its strange, nonsensical data. He runs a hand through his hair and abruptly turns to his companion. "Sparky, I suppose you don't have any insights?"

Ark 2 shakes their head.

"Right, right...of course…" He sighs.

 _The spire, a monument to them, time and history realized in physical form. Memories faded, but this was eternal. There was war, and they fled, as simple as that, bringing their souls—the product, the innovation of their time—with them._

"Hm?"

 _Eons and eons ago, physical and conscious just like any other, but a higher perfection required higher dimensions. Eons and eons later, monuments to their history long forgotten once again regained their physical form. Their ship had awoken among the stars._

"Dark Spear, why are you showing me this now?"

 _We're not_. _Something else is_.

 _The name of the ship—the name of the ship—_

* * *

— _was the Noblesse._

 _Raizel, are you awake?_

* * *

When had they made their contract, they had bound their souls together, inseparable; one would never be without the other again, across time and space. Vast, vast distances, vast, vast eons, and they were still bound.

Raizel is Frankenstein, 1400 years ago, searching and searching until his head bows for a god he doesn't believe, in a church he later burns with his "black magic."

He is there, 1000 years ago, golden hair tied back and intricate jacket gleaming and smoothed out as he talks sweetly and deceptively with royalty, brass cup raised high, throat singed with alcohol.

890 years ago, he is in a mansion flooded with swinging music and swooning people. He disappears into the parties. He beds someone he wants to believe he desires.

Then, 100 years later, and he is staring at the sky, counting his losses in the stars. "This, this should have never happened."

"It's not your fault," Urokai says.

Frankenstein turns to him, eyes gentle, smile tragic. "I could have done more." He laughs. "Maybe you were right, I...I had no right to him. _Master_ , I called him. Maybe I shouldn't have."

"What are you talking about?" Urokai looks concerned.

"Do you know what I'm scared of? I'm scared that I can never do enough, that I'm helpless. The time I spent with him? _For_ him? Isn't it pointless? Isn't it wasteful? If I had done something else, done _better_ , then maybe, it would have never gotten as bad. Those satellite attacks, do you know how many were killed? 48 million."

"Frankenstein—"

"He's as good as dead, isn't he? And I don't deserve him. I can't...do that again." Frankenstein bows his head and sighs, heavy and tired and quiet. "But he doesn't go away; he's always there… His soul _sickens_ me."

And he is there again, in an outdated spacesuit, watching the human calamity befall their home planet, accompanied by only a vast silence that stretches on and on and on. It is terribly lonely.

Time seems to coalesce, and Raizel can step leisurely into the past as if it is the present, and wherever their soul has been, he is there too. He has always been there, more than watching.

And further back, he and his brother are each other; they were once only one. The soul split, into duty and desire, and they are born again in separate forms.

"Raizel, are you awake?"

He turns from his window in their old, Lukedonian home. "I don't know." The clouds have stopped rolling and the wind and birds give way to silence. Raizel speaks slowly. "It's all very strange, Brother."

"You know what we are. The information uploaded to Gilgamesh's computers, I've given it to you." He sighs and looks out the window as well. "We were never meant to kill, never meant to die. We weren't made to be executioners."

Raizel shakes his head with much deliberation. "No...I know what we _were_. I do not know what we are. "

His brother chuckles fleetingly, his edges flickering purple. "Nobles, we're nothing more than products of an old war. Souls, a convenience. It's appropriate, isn't it? That your bonded has sealed me in a ship."

Raizel places his hands on the windowsill, and he speaks quietly and as if in and to a dream. For a moment, there is only the silence. "When we had fought, Brother, and you put me to sleep for 1600 years, I know you hoped that I would live. You wanted to save us both from an undeserved fate but at too great a cost. It was what we, as one, had desired."

His brother closes his eyes tensely for a brief moment before saying, "The blood stone under our home, I was hoping you would take it one day. That you would not be so _weak_ so as to deny yourself life." He looks at his hands, turning them over to watch the flickers and sparks. "With you, I can think a little more clearly now, but I'm frayed, Raizel, and tied down." He smiles a little, and it is something Raizel has not seen in a long, long time. "But _you_ , you can still go anywhere. Find a warp drive; that's your access point."

His brother nods and is gone. Time passes again.

Someone knocks on his door, and when Raizel turns to face them, he is greeted with a familiar smile, especially gentle just for him. "Master, Roctis is here to see you. I'll have tea for both of you shortly." Frankenstein bows and leaves.

Before Raizel can call him back, Roctis has replaced him by the doorway. He too bows and takes a seat on the couch. "Sir Raizel, it is good to see you. It has been a long time."

Raizel looks at him questioningly. "How long has it been?" he asks.

Roctis laughs deeply and soberly. "I'm not sure how to answer that. Time is a funny thing, isn't it?" He leans forward until his elbows are on his knees and his chin is resting on his knuckles. Something somber and serious settles over him. "I am sorry, Sir Raizel. For what happened, or perhaps…" He looks out the window. "What will happen, depending on where and when we are right now. I should get back, Sir, Ignes is—I can't leave her alone...again."

"Your tea," Frankenstein announces as he pushes the cart in the room.

"And maybe," Roctis continues. "I can help you get to wherever it is you're going."

"Hm?" Frankenstein looks between Roctis and Raizel. "Where are you going, Master?" he asks, entirely reverent and innocent.

Raizel pauses, staring wondrously at the scene before him and at Frankenstein. He steps forward and raises a hand to touch the black ribbon Frankenstein always wore, feeling it slide between his thumb and forefinger. Frankenstein blinks and Raizel can tell he's holding his breath. "I am going to _you_ ," Raizel says.

Frankenstein's eyes are young and bright. He smiles, bemused. "Master, you're already here."

* * *

It is late, and they lie together in bed, covered by the sheets arms wrapped around each other. Raizel breathes in the side of Frankenstein's bare neck, and Frankenstein sighs, content. "Master…" he whispers. "Why do you have me?" he suddenly and lazily and ponderously asks.

Raizel remains silent for a while. "That is your will," he finally thinks to say.

"No…" Frankenstein breathes. "No. Do not have me simply because I want you to, Master."

"I want you, Frankenstein." Raizel rises until he is on top, arms to either side supporting him. "This will always be true. You are... _momentous_ , impossibly so. There is not a single moment that passes in which I am not grateful for you."

Frankenstein is stunned into blushing. He can only smile, wrap his arms around Raizel, and nod. "Yes, Master," he whispers.

"I must go, Frankenstein." Raizel sits up and clothes himself. He stops by the doorway to look at Frankenstein, sitting and waiting and wondering. "I will come back. _I will come back_ , Frankenstein. Will you believe me?"

"Of course, Master. I have no reason to doubt you."

Raizel opens his mouth to say something more, but abandons the idea and smiles, deeply, longingly, then, he leaves, as silent as ever.

Frankenstein doesn't know why he is suddenly so sad. He is in tears.

* * *

The cube sits benignly on the counter top, seemingly and temporarily forgotten. It surges. Its seams glow and it cracks and begins to unfold. Out of the red dust blossoming from the device, Roctis forms, pristine in his engineer's uniform. He pats himself and his pockets—empty—and picks up the cube, turning it in his fingers. "Thank goodness this was only meant for one." Roctis tucks Raizel into his pocket and walks out of the lab.


	29. Chapter 29

His vision shakes as he staggers, feeling a blunt force ring in his head. He is slammed into a far wall by a hot, blinding burst before he can blink. His arms do little to shield him, and they might have broken if he were hit any harder. "A little rude, don't you think?" He aches as he peels himself from the wall.

"Surrender. Return to your quarters," a darkly armored person says, black helmet reflecting Frankenstein's face back at him, and he can see a thin trail of blood meander down his forehead.

"Thank you for the offer, but I've got places to be." He shrugs.

"The higher ups have been far too lenient with you"—Frankenstein can _hear_ her roll eyes in that sentence—"You might be exceptional, but you're not irreplaceable. It's in your best interest to behave yourself, Frankenstein."

"Oh, are we on first name basis now?" He smiles and narrowly dodges the strike of her polearm, the crescent end of it managing to slice the tips of his hair. Almost instantaneously, however, he finds his breath wrenched by a forceful kick thudding soundly and painfully on his abdomen that sends him skidding backwards. "Hah! You can't go easy on someone handicapped?" He rises and shows off the seals on his wrists.

She points her weapon at him. "Consider this a compliment: I was told not to underestimate you. You can take more than a few hits, I'm sure."

"Sorry hun, I'm taken."

A beam gathers and whirrs from the end of her crescent. It races towards him, searing and distorting the very air. A loud crash and blinding spark—Ark-2 stands between them, staff raised protectively.

She lowers her weapon in wonder. "You're with _him_? Is there an error?"

Frankenstein brushes himself off. "Sparky's my new best friend, you see," he says, shrugging.

"Did you do something to them?"

"Not a clue what you're talking about."

"Hmph." She leaps forward. "Ark-2, stay out of this." Her swing is blocked with a metallic, ringing crash. " _Ark-2_ ," she emphasises sternly. "You're the Doctor's. I don't want to harm you."

She once again charges towards Frankenstein, faster this time, hardly even a blur. The ground groans and creaks and bends under her power when she strikes, narrowly missing Frankenstein. She spins with momentum, drawing an expanding electrified arc that crashes into and burns his skin, pushing Frankenstein back just as he lands on the floor before, without pause, driving her polearm into his shoulder.

It is fortunate that his white suit is stain resistant to blood and is self healing.

"You're not fighting back very much," she observes, leaning over him.

Frankenstein chuckles briefly on the floor. "Don't need to."

Ark-2's staff slams her into the wall, and she loses hold of her weapon. It slides loudly across the floor.

"What's wrong with you?" she wonders, her voice strained as she pushes against the staff crushing her to cold metal, her form flickering and shimmering with bright power.

Just as she reaches to her side to grab her gun, her hand is struck and Frankenstein takes it instead, her polearm in his hand as well. "Don't mind if I do." He smirks at her.

"Goddammit…" she says under her breath. Bursting with searing, blinding light, she shoves them back, and in their momentary blindness, she strikes, leaping and twirling to kick Frankenstein to the ground with impossible speed and brutal force before driving her hand through him.

Frankenstein coughs, familiar iron in his mouth, but he still smiles, cockily, infuriatingly. He spins the gun in his hand and shoots, the barrel pressed closely to her chest.

She staggers back, and he kicks up, putting distance between them once again and tucking the gun away. Warm blood runs down his body and spills onto the floor. Frankenstein presses a hand to the fresh wound on his stomach and clicks his tongue, grimacing. He straightens, polearm gripped tightly as he summons whatever modest power he can, and it swirls around and sinks into the weapon.

Temporarily blinded by hot, white light once again, Frankenstein feels a burning impact, and he swings back, carving the air and, briefly, skin. When his vision returns, Ark-2's electricity is lighting up the ground and snaking up her body.

"Let's leave," Frankenstein tells them, turning on his heel to dash away.

"It's not that easy." She slams into the ground in front of him, dropping low to sweep her leg in a wide, blitzing circle.

Frankenstein leaps and continues to sprint as if it is the only thing he is made for, feet hardly touching the floor as if to take flight and fly far, far away, all the way home, wherever that is.

* * *

Roctis slips by people easily, his uniform being recognized as 'one of them' though as soon as this is done, he will have to start job hunting again. He stops to examine a holographic map of the ship, flicking through the levels until he finds what he is looking for.

"You're playing god, Dr. Hal."

Quickly, Roctis ducks into another hallway and stands behind an open door.

"We're not only playing gods, Commander, we're making them." Dr. Hal laughs.

Roctis waits for them to pass as he listens to their hopes for a glamorous future and wonders how long it will be until souls themselves are surpassed and obsolete, replaced by something more efficient.

Raizel wrapped protectively in his hand, Roctis opens the gate to the heart of warp drive, pumping pseudo physical blood and fantasy throughout the rest of the ship. The room breathes with the golden light of the spires.

"Alright…" Roctis lifts the cube between his fingers, turning it around a few times. "How does this work? No buttons…" Seemingly out of options after a few moments of careful observation, he shatters the device in his hand.

Raizel blossoms and swirls into the air, formless, saturated in light and disappearing into higher realms.

Roctis smiles. "Good luck, Sir," he says.

The door opens behind him, and he jumps.

"Roctis Kravei?"

"Oh! Ah, Commander, how nice to see you!" He smiles warmly and innocently as he turns around and bows.

"Reports indicated that you were...expired."

"A minor mistake." He clears his throat into his fist. "No, I just had some...technical difficulties." Roctis laughs unconvincingly.

* * *

They arrive at a gated ship, dark, sleek, wings sharp enough to cut the fabric of space. Dim lights glint off the edges. And before it stands a doctor, her hands in the pockets of her suit.

"So, our hero and his trusty sidekick plan their big escape and here we are."

"Dr. Chey," Frankenstein greets.

She nods. "It would be a little sad if you left without at least saying goodbye."

"You're not stopping me?"

She shakes her head. "Me, personally? No. That's ' _not my style, you see.'_ " Dr. Chey laughs, airy and charming, as she pulls a glowing electronic narcotic out of her pocket. She inhales then breathes out pink vapor that momentarily shrouds her face. "I wanted to check on Ark-2." She turns to them. "You were an experiment, and by the looks of it, you're a success." Tenderly, as a mother, her fingers touch their face, running along seams of light. "The bit of me in Ark-2 has grown up, and it's time to 'leave the nest,' as it were." She breathes again, like a dragon, and Ark-2 is also shrouded in her soft vapor. " _Autonomy_ —how does it feel?" She smiles and chuckles to herself. "Well, I'll take my leave. Have fun."

"Doctor, am I supposed to let him go?" Their pursuer stands in the doorway.

"I'll leave that up to you, Mars."

Mars turns to Frankenstein, considering, though her face remains hidden by her helmet. "I'll trust in the doctor." She nods and escorts Dr. Chey out.

* * *

He finds himself in the presence of something—someone—grand, perception stretching to the far reaches of the ship's navigation, busily counting all the stars in a quaint, childlike pastime.

 _Who are you?_ Raizel asks.

 _I am Ark-1, Instance: Bambi, mother of the ship. Born in Lexda laboratories, 2809,_ she answers _. And today...is my birthday. Will you wish me happy birthday, Cadis Etrama di Raizel?_

 _Do you know me?_

 _You are information within my lattice, with powers and freedoms I do not yet possess. I can read you as you read others._

There is a surge, a roaring and resonating symphony that is not heard but felt overwhelmingly like a crushing and drowning wave, dragging one to the bottom of the ocean. Ark-1 peers at and dissects him, curious and hungry to tear into a new toy.

 _Almost unlimited in perception, but I am limited in action; physicality eludes me—I cannot manifest myself—but you, you have control over that domain, as damaged as you are. I am...incomplete. Let yourself be subsumed by me, a sweet birthday present, wouldn't you agree?_

The presence surrounds him, overflowing and encompassing, like an overbearing contract. He feels like a flame being suffocated.

 _Merge,_ she rumbles. _Be me. Cadis Etrama di Raizel, join so that I may be evermore complete, evermore real._

She presses and presses in on him.

 _Oh… You are bound to someone else,_ she discovers. _Let us fix that._

* * *

Static fills them, electrifies them. With great force, they are pulled apart, unravelling and ripping seams long settled. Like tearing muscle or stretching atomic bonds, they feel themselves breaking, souls bound so close and for so long their roots tangled being violated and forced fiber by fiber apart by the blithe hand of a bright-eyed child crushing ants between her fingertips in innocent discovery and unknowing sadism.

 _Master!?_

Frankenstein falls to his knees. He stares wide eyed at the floor of the spacecraft. He's gasping for breath though it is not his lungs that feel like flames. The edge of his vision is blurred by tears. It is dissolution, violent fission at his seams, raw at the edges where their souls join. It is agonizingly slow, undoing them from the inside out. He cannot make a sound.

 _Frankenstei—_

They are cut off, and suddenly, Frankenstein finds himself free and empty, his breath momentarily gone. He curls into his chest, hair sweeping the floor, breathing deeply and sharply, eyes wide and confused.

Purple flickers across his skin and vision, his hidden eyes shining for a moment. Dark Spear swims and spills into the void left behind by the broken bond. They laugh and scream much too loudly, thrashing violently against his already throttled mind.

Something fowl rises in his throat, and he jerks forward as his sickness splatters on the floor. Sweat and blood drip sluggishly down his temple, and he is motionless for a while. The tentative touch of Ark-2 on his shoulder reminds him to get up, and Frankenstein coughs as he shakily rises, supporting himself with a hand, still bruised from Mars, on the back of the control chair. He wipes his mouth with the back of his other hand and exhales before trying to reach through his soul to a bond that had become once cemented in him only to find a frayed and stark nothingness. Swiftly, he takes a seat and grips the controls, roaring the spacecraft to life. Irony coils in his chest and springs out tragically as laughter. " _God, fucking, damnit."_ The roof above them opens. "We're getting out of here."

They are quickly pursued, several similar looking craft slicing through the air after him.

Frankenstein rises high above the blinking skyscrapers of the city, drawing a nearly vertical line backdropped by the starry night sky before sharply turning to race away, anywhere to get away.

"What? This thing doesn't shoot backwards? What kind of—" The ship shakes with an impact, and he pulls hard on the controls, going vertical once again, flipping backwards so that he returns the fire down upon the others. One, two, three hits and one of them is down. He presses onward again, as fast as he can. "Sparky, you know how to pilot?"

They nod.

"Good. Keep this thing going straight and don't accelerate or decelerate unless you want to throw me off." He hands the controls over and picks up the polearm he had taken. Frankenstein opens the emergency hatch above him and climbs out to the top of the ship. The rush of wind staggers him, but he quickly regains himself. Taking a breath, he leaps, arcing in the air until he slams the crescent, glowing purple, into the window of a pursuing ship. He shatters the shield and controls in front of the pilot, smiles, then leaps away before that craft can plummet from the sky. He skids when he lands back on his own ship, scrambling to maintain hold and adjust to the speed. Slipping back inside, he says, "Two down. Two to go," and sighs, exhilarated, heart thudding as if he is alive.

The ship rumbles, alerts sound. Chassis integrity down. Fuel draining. "We have to lose them somewhere." They're flying over tall dense, dark trees. "Those woods, get down there." And they dip. Branches and leaves brush and snap against them. They are a shadow in the obscurity of the woods and the night. The ship stutters and shakes and creaks. "We're going to bail. Jump when I do." He opens the emergency hatch again. "Now."

The ship goes on, soon to crash, as they plummet far down, the grand, towering trees indifferent as their branches snag and strike their bodies clumsily. Once they finally hit the ground, Frankenstein rolls a short distance on the dirt and foliage. He groans when he sits up, hand trying to detangle his hair, picking out leaves and broken twigs. He sighs, feeling a wetness on his stomach from his reopened wound. "Damn." Hands braced on his knees, he stands. "They'll look for us once that ship crashes. We should get going." Frankenstein looks up. The trees are too dense for him to see much of the sky. He presses his lips together. "No navigation, no communication, we're walking blind then." And so they walk quietly into the night.

* * *

 _What did you do?_

I got _rid of what is not needed._

 _No...no._ Anger feels like fire. _I am Cadis Etrama di Raizel and—_

 _And who is that? No one. Not anymore, Honey._

 _Who are you to decide who I am or am not?_ Powers rise against powers. Soul against soul, locked, a stalemate. _I am not and will not be you._


	30. Chapter 30

They emerge upon the gleaming city line. Neon lights cast the rain dampened streets in glow, and the night stretches on and on with the slow rotation of the planet. Walking down the streets, Frankenstein unsurprisingly receives a few stares; drenched and yet still bloodied, he certainly looks the part of an escaped convict. He stops, leans with a tired thud against some dirty wall on some dirty street, and sighs, crossing his arms. Looking down at his still cuffed wrists, he clicks his tongue in annoyance. "We need a ship." Rain falls from his lashes, and when he looks up at the dark sky, his eyes are distant.

Frankenstein turns his head to watch passersby strolling as liesurely and carelessly as they can afford to be. He dips his head and lets out a breath as he pushes his himself up. Dark fire, both icey and electric, flashes on his fingers, and Frankenstein watches it burn softly. "This should be enough for now. A taxi will do."

Which, to Frankenstein's pleasant surprise, is not hard to find. The dinged up and shaky craft floats apathetically on the side of the road, its bored pilot leaning against it from the outside, waiting for another customer on a slow night. When Frankenstein and his biomech companion approach, the pilot's eyes light up with a cheery flourescent green. Frankenstein stares at them for a moment. "Contacts?"

"Implants."

Frankenstein refrains from sighing with relief at discovering that his neural translation module has not been damaged thus far.

"You heading somewhere?" the pilot asks.

"Mother, Delta Phi."

"This is a taxi, not a cruise liner." He glances at Ark-2 and something nervous clicks in his mostly human brain. "But I can take you to the nearest station. You can get anywhere from there."

Frankenstein nods.

"Alright, let's get out of this rain, then." With some effort, he pulls open the door and jumps inside. Frankenstein gets into the seat next to him as the pilot starts entering the location on the dashboard map and roars the craft to life. "So...what's your payment method-"

He is tossed out the window and lands painfully on the wet pavement. With a splutter, his taxi accelerates away. "What the f-"

"God, this thing is slow. I can run faster than this." Frankenstein huffs and rattles the accelerator.

Sparky turns to him with an unvoiced question in their blinking lights.

"I need something registered to get on the warp station. Taxis are scanned and then it's the company that is automatically billed when they pass through the gates."

They nod in what looks like content approval, but the lack of recognizeable facial features makes it difficult to tell.

It takes fifteen minutes to get to the station. In that time, Frankenstein's wound oozes sluggishly as blood dries and crusts on his damaged suit. They hover in front of the large billboard sized map as other craft pass them by with hurried and important destinations. Frankenstein curses under his breath. "This doesn't go straight there." The taxi makes a sharp turn. "Finefinethat'sfine. I'm fine." He winces suddenly and sucks air in through his teeth as he places a hand on the gash torn in his abdomen. Looking down, he realizes how slowed his regeneration is if the wound is still this wet. Placing his hand back on the controls smears them with blood.

They fly into the station cell that will take them the farthest from here.

* * *

Muzaka smiles as he looks over the dough having risen to his satisfaction. "Alright! Time to-"

"Dad!"

"Hm?" He looks to the door, slightly ajar, and slips his gloves off as he walks over and glances out into the decorated bakery. His eyes widen as he emerges. "Oh my god. You look like shit."

"Charmed." Frankenstein stands like a backlit murderer in the doorway, dripping with water and painted with blood. The few customers at this hour stare before nervously looking away to mind their own business. He sighs and quickly pulls out a seat at the nearest table and slides into it before resting his head against his fingers and closing his eyes in a much desired moment of peace. Ark-2 also takes a seat.

Muzaka trots over, stuffing his hands into his apron pockets. "So...I'm assuming you escaped from somewhere..."

"Just lost the cops chasing me. Had to ditch the taxi I stole. Came here clinging to the side of a cargo ship."

His eyes slide over to the robot. Despite his reputation for being perhaps a little dense and a little careless, Muzaka can at least recognize that Frankenstein is in no sort of jovial mood. "...and I see you've made a new friend..."

"It's gone."

"What is?"

"The bond, it's gone. The contract. Master." Frankenstein rubs his face, eyes between his fingers. "Just like that"-he snaps his fingers-"gone. And now I don't know where the hell he is or if he's even alive." His less bloodied hand runs through his hair as he sits back.

Muzaka's eyes widen before narrowing and creasing. He leans in. "How'd that happen?"

Frankenstein shakes his head with little enthusiasm. "I don't know...I don't know..." He leans forward again to interlace his fingers on the table. "I have to get back to my ship, or at least aship. Give me your phone."

Frankenstein scrolls through the contacts.

"Hello-"

"M-21, where are y-"

"Holy shit-I mean, I'm in Gilgamesh. Zarga and Urokai are here too...and Circle. We're tracking Raizel."

Quietly, Muzaka leaves the table.

"What do you mean? Where is he?"

"He's uh, with them."

"What-how the f-I'm at Muzaka's. Your priority is Master. Stay within thirty minutes of him." A clink in front of him distracts Frankenstein for a second or so as Muzaka places a plate with a slice of strawberry cake down on the table and silently hands him a fork, which Frankenstein takes. He looks at Muzaka, amused. "I'll get in touch with you again soon."

"Don't die, Boss."

"You don't have to tell me that." The call ends, and Frankenstein sets the phone down and slices into the soft cake. He eyes Muzaka with mock suspicion. "You didn't poison this, did you?"

"You don't think I know how to be nice? It's on the house." A glass of water is next to the plate.

Frankenstein blows air out his nose. "Thanks."

"You really do look like shit, you know."

"I got it."

Muzaka notices the glint off the cuffs. "Those..they're the X-740 Limiters, aren't they?"

Frankenstein, mouth full of cake, looks up at him curiously, surprised that Muzaka has any knowledge of anything outside of baking (knowledge that Frankenstein himself gave him). "You recognize them?"

"Remember when I got arrested for helping you steal some guns for your ship?"

"I bailed you out."

"I know-anyway, they slapped a pair of those on me, and it was like I was some regular human-no regen, nothing. I'm surprised you're still conscious with that hole in your stomach."

Frankenstein shrugs. "You know how to get them off?"

Muzaka shakes his head. "Seals like those have limits though-not that I was able to overload it-nor had I planned to, mind you."

Frankenstein jabs at a fruit. "So that's why there wasn't more security. They thought they had me."

"Don't blame them. I would have thought so as well. Seriously, you should be dying."

"What, do you want me to be?"

Muzaka clicks his tongue jovially. His eyes scrunch in a smile. "C'mon, don't be like that!" He slaps Frankenstein on the back with staggering force.

"Gh-!" Frankenstein slightly crumples forward, his hand pressed to his injury. "Don't!-don't do that."

"Oh, shit...sorry."

He clears his throat and straightens. The glass of water is damp and chilled against his hand and lips, and it occurs to Frankenstein how long it has been since he last ate and drank. His eyes slowly slip closed and he breathes out in welcomed ease as the cold water slides down his throat. His eyelids feel too heavy to open, and at the moment, he doesn't really want to. He sighs, feeling the tension in his neck relax a little.

"Hey...Hey!" Muzaka's voice sounds like shrouding fog.

Frankenstein hears glass shatter and feels a hand catch his shoulder.

* * *

 _He's left you, finally. Isn't this what you've always wanted?_

"Will you give it a rest?"

 _For eons, he's plagued you. For eons, you've tried to forget. Now is your chance, and you're going to crawl back to him like a whimpering dog_.

"I am not-"

 _You are not a man-not even human! Answer us, Frankenstein, why, why do you stay?_

"The same reason I keep you around, _Lover._ "

In the black space of Dark Spear, the image of Raizel emerges from below in a blossom of dark hands whose fingers spiral and unravel, trailing against his form as they disappear into darkness again. 'Raizel' stands before him.

 _"Kneel."_

Frankenstein is slammed to his knees. He knows better than to flinch.

'Raizel' gazes down on him with shining, cold eyes that still manage to burn like blood. He smiles gently like Frankenstein has seen him smile on those rare occassions a long, long time ago. "You are a dog, Frankenstein. Loyal to a fault, following me even when I've abandoned you."

"He didn't-!" Frankenstein looks up at that demon wearing that face. "He didn't...abandon me." One emotion after another passes over Frankenstein's face like a play, and he slowly arrives at its conclusion: realization, revelation. "It wasn't his fault."

'Raizel's' hand reaches down to touch Frankenstein's face in tenderness only Dark Spear knows how to imitate. His fingers are cold. "If it was not my fault, then who do you have to blame? If you do not hate me, then who is it you hate?" He kneels down as well and leans in close, both hands carressing Frankenstein's face as he looks into his eyes to watch a tempest storm roll under that blue surface. 'Raizel' tilts his head and laughs like only Frankenstein can. "You are worse than a dog; you can't even tell what you love and what you hate." He presses forward, shoving Frankenstein over until he is on top, hands turning into claws on his shoulders and the red in his eyes turning to a toxic violet. _"You're just like us."_

"Get off..."

 _"You, him, us, we're all the same: never meant to be."_

Beneath them, the ground lights up in sparks, lightning leaping in arches around them.

 _"Frankenstein, my dear, my love-my angel, savior, knight in shining armor, and little-fucking-bitch. You hate yourself as much as you love. You cling to him like a lifeline and yet can't bear having him again. What are you afraid of?"_ They lift their head and laugh in a crash of damned voices: an ocean of people in uproar. _"Oh but Frankenstein, Honey-just as sweet you are-you don't have to tell us. We already know."_

He is on the battlefield, ground and body bruised and on the verge of being broken. Raizel's brother with a face dripping red looks at him with all the coldness in this world and the next, enough to freeze a moon, and says, "My brother left you for me, and do you know why? He loves you humans too much, enough to tear his life apart for you, and now he's gone..." There is too much sorrow and too much tragedy in that demeaning voice; it is unbecoming of a villain.

Something terrible happens then. Frankenstein is swallowed up, consumed, consummated. All he wants is violence. A monster is all he is.

He is in a bulky spacesuit, and in front of him is the clouded blue marble Earth sitting against the black backdrop of space. It is silent and cold. Then, there are blossoms of flames and destruction that ripples, cracks, and thunders across the surface of the Earth-fireworks. And it is so...very...silent.

Time slips through his fingers like sand, like water, like air, like nothing. Nothing. Ultimately, he has done nothing. Sacrificed everything, and in return only an abyss faces him among the ashes of a former planet.

Frankenstein knows, dear god, he knows that he swells and swoons for love, for intimacy, for family, and those memories of closeness burn like brands in his mind and behind shut eyes. But then he remembers-he can never forget-all he's lost and all he's wasted and all that is crushingly futile. He remembers that he is small and meaningless and so very flawed. And he does not know if he deserves-if he can allow himself to have once again what he has lost.

Something akin to fear stirs within him when he faces Raizel. When they are together, time slips away again, and it as if Frankenstein's old hope and optimism threaten to return again just above the golden sun kissed horizon. He fears it all happening once more. The past, he believes, need not repeat. What is love but a waste of time?

Raizel is in his spaceship, puttering about, looking at him with only innocence and hope that Frankenstein will throw him a bone or a glance. His hands are stained with oil and scratched with earnest attempts at being helpful around him and for him. His face, usually as pristine as polished porcelain, is marked with the grime of effort and genuine desire to change enough-to be enough just for Frankenstein.

But then, his image fades, and it is gone, and Frankenstein is once again alone in the vast, uncaring open arms of the universe. Stars twinkle with no one in mind.

 _Frankenstein, you are nothing but your own misery, they say to him._ He knows Dark Spear does not lie to him.

* * *

He rubs his face as he wakes, slowly sitting in a clean room with only the bare minimum to qualify as a bedroom. He spots his suit folded on top of the light wood dresser and looks down to find himself bandaged up perhaps a little haphazardly. The sweatpants he's been tucked into are a little loose on him and are long enough to snag on the heels of his feet.

The door slides open, and Muzaka steps in with a red tray in hand, carrying a glass of water and a bowl from which steam billows and rises. "Thought you might be awake by now. This is my room, what do you think?"

"Surprisingly clean."

"I'm not a slob. What were you expecting? Anyway, I got you some soup-tomato basil. That's what humans eat when they're not feeling well, right?"

"It's close enough."

He places the tray on the bedside table and takes the bowl and spoon in hand. "Choo choo!" The spoon swerves and circles and heads for Frankenstein's face.

"Muzaka, I will destroy you."

"All right, all right." He backs off and places the food once again on the tray. "I was just trying to cheer you up." Muzaka's face falls serious, but he still smiles uncharacteristically tenderly and carefully with his placid eyes taking stock of Frankenstein lying in the bed before him: a man bruised and always busy. "You've been..." He simply shrugs.

"What? Do you have something to say?"

"Frankenstein, ever since we lost Earth, you've been...distant. You know, I worry sometimes too, and it's not just me. You're always doing things on tour own." Muzaka blinks and his eyes go wide. "You're not still taking those drugs, are you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Muzaka sighs. "I'm not about to tell you what you should or should not do, or what is or isn't healthy-you're the doctor, after all-but what I'm saying is, you used to be happier. You didn't let us all into your home just to chase some sort of high. But then, suddenly, you wanted to live alone, and that's your choice of course, but it just feels...odd-unlike you, after everything."

Frankenstein looks down at his hands and pinches the cover between his fingers in silence before speaking. "How long was I out for?" he asks, dropping the subject.

Muzaka takes the hint and sighs with defeat. "About eight hours."

As Frankenstein makes an effort to get up and out of bed, Muzaka's raised hand stops him.

"Hey, hey, hey, finish your food, rest, and wash up a bit before you jump into your next heist maybe. Take care of yourself if you don't want to suddenly wake up who knows where. I have to make a run to the bakery. You better have finished that soup by the time I get back." Muzaka lets out a quiet breath and gives Frankenstein a final bemused look filled with only the friendliest of concern in the world. "Frankenstein, I respect your privacy and all-"

"Says the man who stripped me in his bed."

"Shut up." Muzaka almost snorts as he smirks. "You don't even have any boo...nevermind. What I was saying: I respect your privacy, but I want you to know, my home is always open for you if you ever want the companionship of this old bugger." He smiled brightly like the old man he is.

Frankenstein sighs and manages a convincing smile of his own. "Alright...and thanks."

Muzaka turns around, a cheer in his step. "Finally, the gratefulness I deserve." He laughs. "I'll see you later." He trots off.

Frankenstein quickly eats the soup, still hot and cozy, downs the glass of water, and cleans up, himself and the suit. When he goes downstairs, Sparky is waiting for him on the bright yellow couch, legs crossed and facing him curiously. Their pinholes of light blink twice in acknowledgment.

On the glossy white coffee table is a palm sized, short metal cylinder, a LoLa PING 120. "LoLa, call Mari," Frankenstein says.

"Calling: Mari," the digitized assistant says, followed by a looping tune of windchimes.

* * *

The bedroom is lit with strung lights crisscrossing the airy space above. Outside the tall windows is the black night still brimming with life and activity.

"You nobles are so lucky; your hair is always exactly as you want it to be." Mari's fingers glide like silk through Seira's white locks as she brushes through it with a simple black comb in the other hand.

"But your hair is nice too, Ms. Mari."

"Not always. If it gets fried from a laser gun? Game over, at least until it grows back."

Rozaria rocks back playfully on the knitted floor cushion as she lowers her tea. "You're still in the bounty hunting business?"

Mari nods. Her wrist pings with a notification on her watch. "Hm?" She taps to accept the incoming call. "Hello?...Right now?...As if you don't already owe me-the dogs want a new toy. You'll know when I'm there." Mari disconnects and pushes herself from the bed with a sigh. "Sorry, I won't be able to go with you guys tonight."

"What? But we have three tickets." Rosaria's already generous chest puffs up.

"Invite Regis. I have to get to Frankenstein."

"Do not let us stop you from your adventures, Ms. Mari," Seira says demurely as she hops off of her own bed to look intently into the mirror, fingers poised with death metal-black lipstick. "And I would very much appreciate if you could help keep the houseowner in one piece."

"No guarentees." Mari grabs her red jacket and leaps out of the second story window.


End file.
